


Reunion of the Damned

by MistLaFey



Series: Reunions and Revelations [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: All characters are fair game at this point, Bro Sucks, Caliborn (mentioned) - Freeform, Dealing With Trauma, Different subspecies of vampires, Empaths, Even if they don't end up relevant to the plot they exist in universe, Fae and Faerie lore, Flashbacks, Government organized Supernatural policing agency, I spend too much time researching supernatural shit, I'm making shit up as I go, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Misc. Character deaths, Murder, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Psychopomps, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural myths and legends, Supernaturals out to the human world, Take every legend I give you with a grain of salt, Trauma, Vampire Hunters, Vampire!Kanaya (duh), Vampires, Vampires aren't the only thing, bro is not dirk, but it's kanaya so no one is getting hurt by it, but that kinda goes with murder mystery, gore mention, gun mention, hunter!Karkat, i'm addicted to commas, past trauma, vampire!Dave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistLaFey/pseuds/MistLaFey
Summary: One night seven years ago, Dave and Derrick Strider disappeared. Two months later, Derrick's body was found; Blood drained, neck broken. Dave's was not recovered, but Kanaya confirmed that the building smelled of Dave's blood- too strongly for him to still be alive.Now, Karkat works for an organization that tries to make sure no one else will ever have to feel the pain he did, he does, at knowing someone he cared about, someone he loved, is dead at the hands of a vampire that gives the entire species a bad name. So when he's sent to a small town to investigate the deaths of three victims, when they bring in a vampire for him to question, he's certain it'll be no different than usual- that is, until he takes off the vampire's hood and sees a face from his past- someone he was sure he'd lost for good.**ON HIATUS FOR EDITING**
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Series: Reunions and Revelations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818283
Comments: 36
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how fucking dark it is. The second is the pain in your head and arms, and the third is the way your arms are pulled back in an unnatural way that makes you realize you’re probably tied to a chair. 

These details come together in your mind in a way that makes you sigh. You fucking  _ knew  _ you should have skipped town last week. It was only a matter of time before the bodies that had started showing up linked themselves to a vampire, before the hunters showed up, before they decided it must’ve been  _ your  _ lame ass taking a bite out of every Tom, Dick, and Sally you could get your fucking fangs into.

_ God fucking damn it, Dave. _

The worst fucking part, the  _ worst  _ part, is that it’s totally not your fault this time! Some other vamp moved into your territory and started snacking. You keep a low profile, drink from donors or animals. Hell, you’ll compulse your way into a blood bank before you really hurt anyone. But just when you were starting to get your life back on track, or well your  _ new  _ life, this shit happens. You really can’t catch a break, can you, Strider?

You’re still in the middle of contemplating where everything went wrong, or well what went wrong  _ this  _ week, because you know where your entire  _ life  _ went wrong and that would be your stupid fucking imbecile of a brother  _ royally  _ fucking up in only a way that he could- and that ended up both of you  _ dead  _ so hey, fuck that guy-  _ focus Dave-  _ When the cloth sack covering your head is pulled off with a quick  _ thwip.  _ Some of your hair goes with it, but you’re to busy blinking your eyes to readjust your eyes to the light.  _ Fuckers took my shades.  _ And then the man who took the sack off is rounding the table that’s in front of you and sitting across from you.

Your brain screeches to a halt as your past and present collide, and you have a dizzying thought of  _ is he the ghost or am I?  _ before you’re wondering if he even recognizes you anymore. It’s been a while, like what, six, eight fucking-

“What the- Dave?” The man says and you’re sighing again, shoving yourself back into the ropes and the chair.

“Hey, Karkles. Long time,” you quip and relax a bit. It’s unlikely Karkat would hurt you, you think. It’s always harder to hunt people you know, people you loved-  _ Don’t go there. _

Then confusion starts swirling in you again. Karkat Vantas was many things in the time you knew him, but a  _ hunter  _ was certainly not one of those things. He had always seemed, like, generally okay with the whole “supernaturals are real and you probably know a couple” thing when it went big- especially after he found out his cousin? Second cousin? Kanaya was a vampire.

“Holy shit, Dave,” is all Karkat says for a few minutes. Then he shakes his head, sighs and gets up to walk out of the room. You let him, partly because you’re not sure what to say or do, and partly because you’re tied to a fucking chair. By your estimate, he’s gone for about twenty minutes. When he comes back, he has your shades in one hand, and a knife in the other.

You look up at him, and he quickly slides your shades into their place. You give him your patented one-sided grin and thank him through the smile.

He scoffs, rolls his eyes and perches his ass on the edge of the table. “Dave, I’m going to ask you once- and don’t lie, we have an empath on the other side of that glass,” here he points to the big mirrored window, and you finally figure out that you’re literally in an interrogation room. “Are you going to hurt me if I untie you?”

_What the fuck?_ “Christ, Karkat, _no,_ ” Then you shake your head and walkback what you said, “I mean, not if you don’t hurt me.”

Karkat shifts, sits up straighter. His eyes glaze over a little, like he’s listening to a voice you can’t hear. Then his eyes clear, and he grins at you a little- “You pass the first test, it seems. Don’t move, okay?”

And you’re about to ask why you shouldn’t move when you feel the slightest hint of metal and burning on your skin- the knife, it must be blessed or silver or some other shit that would hurt a vampire like you. So you don’t move, not until Karkat is in front of you again, lowering himself into the chair across from you. And once he’s seated you pull your hands from behind your back, rub a little at your wrists. “What the fuck kind of rope did you find that could hold a vampire?” You mean, not that you really tried to pull against them or anything. But the idea that hunters would have tied you up, knowing what you were, confident that it would hold you? Weird.

“It’s a kind of cord made from the center-most wood of trees. Vampire-proof,” Karkat is leaning forward, chin in hand and elbow on the table. He’s looking at you like he doesn’t really believe what he’s seeing. “Since when are you a vampire, Dave?”

You stop rubbing your wrists long enough to quip back, “Since when are you a hunter, Karkat?”

He unnerves you with his response, “Since about two months after you and your brother disappeared, after we found his body and you were still missing.”

"Who's  _ we?" _

Karkat shakes his head, "There's questions I have to ask you first, Dave. If we're certain you're not a threat, that you haven't and won't hurt anyone, maybe then I can answer yours."

You frown. You're hurt, of course, but the logical part of you, the part that understands Karkat's precautions because you're not the Dave he knew anymore, you're a fucking  _ vampire,  _ nods. "Ask away, then."

Karkat nods and opens a file that had been sitting on the desk, he picks up a pen, his eyes shift over the form inside, you see him write a few things down, information he already knows or found out from your short interaction. You can't see what he's writing from this angle, but that's fine. "Are you aware that you're a vampire?" Is the first question he asks, and you bark out a short laugh.

"Damn, really? And here I thought I was a Mermaid."

Karkat looks up at you and the look in his eyes makes you realize he's not comfortable with this. Not comfortable with your joking, not about this at least. "Dave, please-"

You cut him off before he can continue, "Yeah, I'm aware. I have been for a while."

Karkat nods and goes back to the document, "How long have you been a vampire?"

You have to sit back and think at that one, it's been a very long time since you thought about that night, “Probably… hm. I was turned the same night Derrick was killed, so probably right around when you guys found his body, I guess? That was what, seven years ago?”

“Seven years, three months, sixteen days,” Karkat responds automatically and you tilt your head at him in a way that very easily conveys your  _ what the fuck?  _ Karkat shrugs, “You don’t forget the day your worst fears are confirmed, Dave. When we found Derrick, we figured wherever you were, you were dead too. I mean, Kanaya could smell your blood there, too much of it for you to be alive. Fortune tellers, Diviners, anyone we went to; they all said you’d be dead when we found you.  _ If  _ they said we’d find you.”

“I mean, they weren’t wrong. I  _ am  _ dead,” you grin again, but it’s more a mask than a smile this time. Karkat is hurting, and you know it’s your fault. Guilt begins to manifest itself at the same time you feel your chest tightening. You _really_ don't like talking about your Bro, or the night you were turned, or your own vampirism. 

He pulls his shoulders back, and takes a deep breath. He looks to the next question, “What subspecies of vampire are you?”

You blink behind your shades. “What?”

“Subspecies, Dave. Can you feed on anything besides blood?”

“I don’t- Is that a thing?”

Karkat looks up, then scribbles on the file again, “Okay, that’s okay if you don’t know. Some sires don’t explain everything if you’re just a run-of-the-mill  _ Vampirus Draculris.  _ Who is your sire?”

“My  _ what?” _ Okay, you’re starting to freak out a little. You don’t know what the hell he’s asking you for, and you’re starting to think that that may be your own damn fault for never bothering to do any fucking  _ research  _ on how to be a vampire outside of  _ Where’s the nearest blood-bank? _

At this, Karkat looks up and puts the pen down. “Dave,” he asks, suddenly very quiet, “Do you not know who turned you?

You can feel yourself starting to shake, trying to remember the person who did this to you. You never wanted to think about it, but now you’re realizing your situation. You’re in a hunter’s  _ lair,  _ and they’re asking you for information  _ you don’t have,  _ and yeah, maybe the interrogator is an old friend of yours but a lot has changed in seven years. Karkat doesn’t  _ know  _ you anymore, and if he’s working with a hunting organization maybe he  _ knows  _ how to  _ kill  _ you. For real, this time. No waking up in pain and thirsty, gasping as your dead heart starts to beat again, as your empty lungs pull in air again and-  _ okay, you’re panicking. _

You aren’t paying attention as Karkat stands from the table, scrambles out into the hallway and begins shouting, “Kanaya! Get me Kanaya, now!” He leaves the door open, and runs back to you. He gets in your face and puts a hand on your shoulder even as you push away from him. The chair you’re in topples over, and you land on your back sharply. You  _ really  _ can’t get any air in your lungs now. Karkat’s face enters your field of vision again, and then he’s cupping your cheek with one hand and resting the other on your chest. He’s saying something and you can’t hear him, but then he’s being pushed out of the way and another familiar old face is taking his place.

Her bright green eyes widen in shock momentarily, but then she’s pulling your shades off and making direct eye contact. You can feel her in your mind and  _ fuck that’s awful,  _ but then she’s hitting all the right switches and buttons in your mind and you’re breathing okay again and you can feel the adrenaline leaving your veins even as you start to fall asleep. It’s on the cusp between awake and asleep when you realize  _ oh, shit. That’s Kanaya. _ You're out before you can say anything.


	2. Chapter 2

When you wake up this time, you find yourself lying on a queen sized bed, quilt beneath you but a blanket pulled up to your chest. You aren’t tied up this time, but your head still hurts. Hurts again? Is it the same pain? Hard to tell. You pull yourself into a sitting position and the room spins. You drop a hand over your eyes and fall back onto the mattress with a groan.

“Do you have a headache?” a voice calls from the corner. You have to open an eye to be certain, but the gruffness and hint of anger that always resides there makes you think it’s Karkat. You were right.

“Yeah,” you whisper, knowing that your own voice will make it worse.

It surprises you when Karkat walks around the room and starts turning off the lights. You hear him flick the curtains closed, and then a minute later metal and hard plastic is poking at the hand still covering your eyes. You take the shades from him and slide them onto your face, “Thanks, ‘Kat.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to get Kanaya? She could try and remove the headache. Or I could just get you some medicine, if it still works on you.”

You close your eyes behind the shades, and your temples throb. It’s been so long that you’re surprised Karkat still knows how to care for you when you don’t feel well. “Hm, yeah. Excedrin, if you’ve got it.”

You feel more than hear Karkat stand because the mattress shifts, but also because he runs his fingers gently across half your forehead before he yanks his hand away like you burned him. Then he’s stomping toward the door with a mumbled, “Fuck,” that would be too quiet for you to hear if you were still human.

He’s not gone long, ten minutes tops, but it’s still long enough for you to lay there and think about all the times he used to run his hand across your face like that. In school when you got headaches like these he would have you lay your head in his lap. He would run his hands along your face, gently moving your hair, massaging your temples and blocking out the light with his own body. You’ve always been light-sensitive, and it’s only gotten worse since you were turned.  _ Just another fucking reason I never wanted to be a vampire. _

When Karkat comes back, he helps you sit up. Your half leaning against his chest because he tells you not to open your eyes, “I’ll help you, come on.”

You protest as best you can, but when your mouth is open he drops two pills on your tounge. He’s careful to avoid your fangs. Then he has one hand on the back of your neck as he presses a cool glass to your lips.  _ Water.  _ You swallow the pills and then Karkat is leaning away to put the half-empty glass on the night stand. You hear the clink of it on the wood. Then Karkat is shifting so your back is to his chest, he guides your head down onto his shoulder. It’s so familiar and yet so  _ alien  _ that you feel your mind flipping out. 

All at once you’re fifteen again, you and Karkat are in your room after school. Bro hasn’t been home in two days, and you’re pretty certain you’re safe for at least another day or two. Karkat has you in this same position, and he’s running his fingers through your hair and down your shoulders and over your chest. You’re young and stupid and helplessly in  _ love  _ with the boy who’s holding you. Bro would kick your ass if he found out. He kicks your ass anyway, but you know it would be worse this time. 

You wince as Karkat runs his fingers gently, so fucking gently, across a gash on your ribs. It’s probably infected, you think. Karkat must think so too because he reaches to his side, picks up a cotton pad and the peroxide and starts cleaning the wound. “I wish you’d tell someone,” he whispers angrily.

“If I did that, I’d lose you. Lose everything. It’s okay, Karkat. I can take it,” you mumble back tiredly. You feel safe now. Bro isn’t here; Karkat is, and he’s taking care of you. He’s minding his volume, nearly impossible for him, you know; but he knows you have a migraine. The love you feel here is the only thing you’re certain in, and the illusion is shattered when your door slams open. 

You’re up and armed in less than three seconds, but it doesn’t matter. Bro takes one look at you, at Karkat and puts it together. You’re both shirtless, and Karkat has a dirty cotton round in one hand. It’s stained in dried blood, your blood. 

Bro doesn’t say anything, he just reaches for you, knocks your sword aside. He grabs you by the throat and you realize he isn’t armed, not yet. But that doesn’t mean you’re safe, and he confirms  _ that  _ when he slams a punch into your gut. He’s never hit you in front of anyone before, and now you know why because Karkat is screaming, yelling, begging for Derrick to stop as he lands hit after hit and when you drop to the floor he starts kicking. It doesn’t matter to you, not at all, not as long as he doesn’t touch Karkat. And he doesn’t.

Karkat still screams for him to stop. You focus on the sound of his voice, tune out the pain. You’ll be okay. Bruises heal, so do broken ribs. And then finally, finally, he stops. He’s panting, winded, so the beatdown must have been long. Probably half an hour? Maybe more? Karkat is sobbing when you pull yourself off the floor, slip back onto the bed and practically drop yourself into his lap. “Thank you,” you mumble into his thigh.

Karkat whispers, voice hoarse, through the tears, “D-Dave, I didn’t  _ do  _ anything. I j-just let him-”

You shake your head, “He woulda hurt you. Don’t-” you wheeze “Don’t ever get in his way. I can handle it if it’s me, I’ll die before it’s you.”

You inhale sharply, pushing yourself away from the memory, away from Karkat. The movement makes your head hurt, so you flop down into the mattress next to him, groaning softly.

“Dave?” he asks, and you try to wave him off. It doesn’t work too well, because you feel his weight push into your back, push you further into the mattress.

“Why are you so fucking touchy?” You grumble, rolling your head to the side so he can hear you.

“I- sorry. Did you want me to back off? I just- before, this helped.”

You sigh deeply, then pull your arms up to cushion your aching head. “Not used to it anymore, I guess.”

You feel his breath on the back of your neck and you stop yourself from shivering. You aren’t allowed to be close to people anymore, not when you could hurt them. “Dave?”

You allow yourself a few seconds, just a few. If you don’t move you can’t hurt him, right? Then you mumble, “Get off, ‘Kat.” And he does, immediately. 

Say what you will about Karkat Vantas, but he is immensely responsive when it comes to other’s boundaries. Tell him no, tell him to stop an he will.  _ ‘S probably because of how he was raised,  _ you think tiredly. And then that starts you thinking about what else you know-  _ knew-  _ about Karkat. He’s protective and possessive, but in a good way. He’s loyal, and if you hurt him it’s rare to get another chance, and he looks for the good in people. It probably killed him to watch you hurt, to be hurt, and eventually killed by your brother; but you were the one who asked him to stay out of it, hundreds of times. You have to wonder if you’d be in this situation now if you had let him intervene.

He sighs, and your train of thought breaks. “Dave, I really need to finish asking you those questions. Technically, we’re not even supposed to let you out of the interrogation room until you do. But Kan and I vouched for you. I need the answers or my bosses are going to flip.”

You really don’t want to answer any questions. Especially not about yourself- not about what happened to you, “I don’t know much about what happened to me, ‘Kat. I don’t know who did it, or how to find them.”

You hear Karkat shuffling around the room, papers rustle and a pen clicks. “I have other questions. Questions I think you won’t freak out over, but just to be safe I’m going to get Kanaya. We’re supposed to have a telepath present for all interrogations anyway, and she can monitor your status better than an empath anyway.”

“We can stay here?”

“Yeah,” you can hear him typing on something. A laptop? No, a phone. A few minutes later you hear the door open softly and sense another person enter the room.

“Dave?” A clear, feminine voice calls. You open your eyes slowly and recognize Kanaya Maryam standing before you.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “Hey, Kan.”

“My God,” she speaks softly. She must know you have a migraine, she was in your head after all, “I never thought I would see you again.”

You close your eyes behind your shades, “That was the plan,” you mumble.

With your eyes closed, you don’t see the look that passes between the two other people in the room. You hear the click of a light turn on, and you know that means your eyes are staying shut for the duration of this conversation.

Karkat’s voice calls from the desk in the corner, “Are you aware of the three murders of vampiric nature that have been reported in this town?”

“Yes.”

“Truth,” Kanaya responds. Her voice comes from where the door is. Is she standing in front of it? Blocking it? Too much head pain to open your eyes. You can feel her in your mind, now that you’re thinking of her.  _ I thought she needed eye contact for this shit. _

An amused chuckle whispers through your mind,  _ My abilities have greatly progressed since I last saw you, Dave. Eye contact makes it easier, but is not always necessary. _

“Fuck,” you mutter, pressing your face further into your arms, “I don’t like having you in my head, Kan.”

“I’m sorry, Dave. It’s just a safety measure, It’ll be over soon if you cooperate,” Kanaya does sound generally remorseful, and you know she  _ knows  _ you hate letting other people play in your head. You always have, ever since she came into that stupid power-

_ Focus, Dave. Don’t go down that path, _ she interrupts your train of thought. 

Right. Focus.

“Did you commit these murders?”

You take a deep breath, calm yourself. Get used to Kanaya in your mind, just for a little while. She won’t hurt you. She’s too kind, too wary against that kind of thing. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“Truth.”

“Are you in any way complicit in the murders?” Karkat asks, the scratch of pen on paper rhythmic and his voice relaxed, if gruff.

“No.”

“Truth.”

“Do you know who commited the murders?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Truth.”

“Do you know any, or know of any other vampires in town? Someone we could or should consider a suspect?”

You stop to think for a minute. Do you know any vampires here? Someone who could be a vampire? Someone who would commit a murder and make it  _ look  _ like a vampire? “I don’t think so?”

There’s a pause before Kanaya answers, “He’s telling the truth, but he’s uncertain.”

“Why are you uncertain, Dave?” Karkat asks, and you realize the tactic here is that Karkat’s voice is level, meant to keep you calm even if Kanaya were to say you lied.

“I don’t know if I know any other vampires, I don’t think I do, but it’s hard to be sure,” you shrug into the mattress, knowing you look very silly while doing so.

“Kanaya?”

“That’s the truth. We have an innocent vampire here, at least in this case.”

Karkat sighs in what sounds like relief, then you hear the light click out, you open your eyes. Kanaya  _ is  _ blocking the door. Karkat moves from the desk and kneels by the bed, “Two last questions, Dave.”

“Okay,” Kanaya is still in your head, but it’s weaker now. You feel her presence smoothing across your mind, and you think she’s trying to induce sleep in you once again.  _ I am,  _ she responds,  _ We want you to rest after this.  _

“Have you ever killed to feed?” Karkat asks, and you want to hiss at him for that. You don’t want to hurt anyone, you don’t want to-  _ Calm-  _ Kanaya hits something inside you, wraps around it and you sigh softly.

“No,” It’s barely verbal, you’re barely conscious.

Karkat nods, he reaches out to move the hair from your face, but stops himself just shy of touching you. Good, if he doesn’t touch you, you can’t hurt him. You really don’t want to hurt- Kanaya hits whatever she did and you draw back into that calm, sleepy place.  _ These are your friends and you are safe, no reason to panic,  _ something that sounds suspiciously like Kanaya says. 

“Do you still love me?” Karkat whispers, and the answer is on the tip of your tounge but Kanaya stops it. You feel her jerk up on your verbal response, before she plunges your consciousness into sleep.  _ Huh, _ you think,  _ wonder why she did that? _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much all flashback this time. Heads up for mild violence and gore, you're about to find out how Dave was turned 7 years ago.

Your name is Dave Strider and when you wake up on Thursday evening you’re pretty sure you’ve been dreaming about Karkat Vantas again. It’s not an unusual thing for you to dream about your old life. You know you miss it, but you can’t go back. It’s safer this way, you reason. If you had gone home that night seven years ago it’s entirely possible you would’ve sunk your shiny new fangs right into his throat, and then where would you be? If you had gone back at any point after what happened you might have hurt him, hurt someone, anyone you cared about. It’s not worth it.

You do not allow yourself to think over how careful you’ve been since you were turned. You don’t let yourself think about how every donor you’ve ever tasted looks at you with questions in their eyes when you pull away a full two minutes before you have to, or how any time you’ve gone to a blood bank most of the nurses smile and hand over a few pints without you even having to compel them to do so. You are dangerous, you have to capability to be a killer, to hurt and do harm. The strength you have now, the abilities you have, they are meant to hurt people. Why else would your brother have wanted to be turned? Why else would he want to have you turned as well, if not to inflict pain upon you for eternity? You never could stand against him in a fight, and now that he’s gone you’re not sure you ever really wanted to.

You were just a little older than 20 when you died. It was January, but that doesn’t mean much in Texas. For two years, you had lived in the pleasant illusion of safety being an adult had allowed you. Maybe that was the mistake. Or maybe hiding a spare key under the welcome mat was the mistake. Either way, you’re dead now.

You had come home from a long day of classes and work, looking forward to nothing more than a shitty movie and cuddling on the couch with your boyfriend. That was not what you had come home to. When you put your hand on the apartment doorknob and found it unlocked, you had figured Karkat had beaten you home and simply forgot to lock it behind him. It happens sometimes, usually when he’s super excited to get home because of a new DVD or blanket or one of a hundred other reasons.

“Babe?” You called, pushing the door open and sliding your backpack off and onto the table in the entryway, “You forget to lock the door again?”

There had been no response, so you walked further into the apartment looking for Karkat. You turned your head into the kitchen, found it empty and stopped shock still when you looked into the little area you had deigned the living room. Karkat was not home. Sitting on your couch looking calm as a lake on a windless day, was your brother. One foot resting on the floor, the other resting in his lap. From his left hand he dangled the spare key before tossing it onto the coffee table. In his right, a handgun.  _ Where the fuck did he get a gun?  _

“Miss me, Lil Man?” He grinned in the way that made your blood curdle. It was the look that said you were about to have your ass handed to you, the look you hadn’t seen in two years on a face you had avoided for just as long. And then, get this, the  _ motherfucker  _ that he is, released the hammer. He disarmed the gun, and put the safety on. He set it down on the arm of the couch, as if he knew you weren’t going to try anything. As if he knew the idea of fighting him wasn’t even going to cross your mind.  _ Bastard. _

“What the fuck do you want?” You did not move, could not move. Maybe if you kept talking long enough, Karkat would come home. Maybe he would hear you talking through the door, hear a voice that wasn’t yours and call the police. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“You and I are gonna go for a little ride, Davey.”

“Why? Where?”

“We’re going to go see a friend of mine, he owes me a favor or two.”

You shook your head in disbelief, letting out a rueful laugh. “Fuck you. Fuck no. I’m not going anywhere with you. Karkat will be home any minute, and he’ll know something is up when he finds the door unlocked.”

He leaned back against the couch, throwing his left arm across it. “I’m not asking.”

“I’m still saying no. I’m an adult, you don’t have any rights to me, any right to be here. Shoot me if you want, I’m not playing any more of your fucking games, Derrick.”

That bloodthirsty look crossed his face again, and he rolled his head around from one side to the other, “Gun isn’t for you.”

You swallowed hard, nervous. He could see it. You weren’t so good at hiding your emotions anymore. Karkat was good at getting you to open up, he’d had years of practice.

“That’s right, Davey. If your fucking  _ boyfriend,”  _ he spat the word like it was week-old chewing tobacco,  _ “ _ walks in before we’re gone, I’m going to pump him full of holes. And then I’m going to take you with me, anyway.” 

Your defiant glare dropped, you gripped the doorway in defeat. He had you, and he knew it. All these years, of course he knew how to break you. Threatening you had stopped working when you were around 16, once you and Karkat had officially gotten together. Anything he could do to you, you had someone in your corner then. You could take it. But the minute he started threatening Karkat, you were fucked. It had started small, “Next time I find him here, I’m going to break his fingers, Davey,” and then Karkat wasn’t allowed over anymore. “Next time I see him hanging around you when I pick you up from school, I’m going to punch his face in,” and then Karkat wasn’t allowed to watch you get picked up anymore.

“I’ll get my coat,” you whispered, slinking back to the hall closet.

“And don’t you try anything funny, you little shit, or I’ll come back here and kill him anyway.”

There goes the plan to leave a note in the closet, you guess.

Derrick had followed you into the hallway, gun tucked in his waistband. He kept one hand on the back of your neck in what looked like comfort, but your skin crawled under his touch. Two years. Two years you thought you had been safe, but he was just letting you believe that to lull you into that false sense of security. “I’ve told you hundreds of times, kid, getting close to people just gives others a weakness to exploit. Now, look what happens when you don’t listen to me?”

And then you’re in the cab of a shitty red Ford pickup truck you never thought you’d see again, and he’s putting the gun in the cupholder like he knows you won’t try for it (and he’s right), and you’re driving down the highway with some shitty mashup of one of his original raps and fucking “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy,” blaring on repeat and you’re certain this is a new kind of torture all on it’s own. He drives just long enough for you to start to wonder if this is it, if this is his whole fucking plan, if he wants to see how long it takes you to reach for the gun and end it yourself because of how  _ fucking shitty  _ his mashup is when he pulls into the lot of what looks to be an abandoned Sam’s Club warehouse and he’s sliding out of the car. 

You look at the gun for maybe half a second before you’re sliding out of the truck and following him without it. 

There’s nothing in the building, really. The shelves are gone, and the space is open. Some trash on the floor, probably from the last person or people to crash here. You see your brother, he’s standing in the middle of the big space talking to someone you don’t recognize. You walk up to them and he quickly, too quickly, too roughly, wraps an arm around your shoulder and yanks you into his side.

“And this,” he says to the stranger, “is my little brother. Two for one deal, yeah?”

The stranger looks you up and down. He’s bald, with snake tattoos creeping up his scalp and over his ears. He has piercings in his eyebrows, nose, lips, and cheeks. You have just enough time to wonder if he’s some sort of gang member when you realize his eyes are bright. Fucking. Red.

_ Danger,  _ some part of you screams.

“Dude, he’s a fucking kid,” the stranger says, sounding bored. He’s still staring at you, and some part of you that still remembers when Bro was kind to you wants you to cower behind him. You don’t, but the impulse is still there.

“He’s twenty, barely, but still an adult. Everything’s copacetic.”

You have no idea what’s going on, so no, you fucking asshole, everything is not copacetic. 

The stranger flicks his gaze to your brother, then back to you. He squints a little, and you feel a weird, hazy sort of pressure in your head. You blink, shake your head and that seems to clear it.

The stranger hums, “You know what’s going on, fucker? You’re cool with this?”

Derrick squeezes your arm, an obvious threat. The kind of motion that says,  _ if you fuck this up I will shred you and everything you’ve ever loved to bits. _

So, you lie. “Yeah, man. Totally cool.”

The stranger is unconvinced. His eyes turn back to Derrick, “No way in hell, man. You're not paying me enough to deal with the fallout when this chickenshit can't take it.”

This is, obviously, not the answer Derrick wanted. He pulls his fucking sword out. You’re not sure how, or where the fuck it came from, but you are suddenly spinning away from him as fast as humanly possible. The stranger drops into a crouch and his eyes are glowing, he hisses and you see fangs and it clicks.  _ He’s a fucking vampire. Derrick brought you to see a vampire. _

He swings, like he thinks he has a fucking chance here, and the vampire dodges. The fight lasts maybe thirty seconds? A full minute, if you’re being generous. The vampire gets his hand on the back of Derrick’s neck, rips his shitty sword from his hands, then throws him across the giant space and you hear a sickening crunch as his body hits the wall. He’s on your brother again in seconds, and there’s two voices in your head, one saying  _ help him. He’s your  _ brother,  _ he’s your  _ family. And another going,  _ huh. Welp. That’s too bad.  _ Either way, you freeze as you watch the stranger sink his fangs into Derrick’s neck. Even from halfway across the room you can hear the sucking, gulping, wet noises. There is no doubt in your mind that he’s dead, or will be very shortly. 

Your legs crumple beneath you, and then you’re just watching, like another perspective in your own life. You can see yourself, sitting there on the dusty and dirty floor. You should have gotten up, you should have run and gotten into the truck, drove yourself somewhere safe. You didn’t.

The vampire stands, wipes his mouth, and walks toward you. “Fucker,” he says, kneeling down in front of you, “You saw what happened? He attacked me, and I defended myself.”

You look up at him dumbly. He scrunches up his face a bit, and then he’s pushing you back so you’re half-laying on the floor. He lifts up your shirt and you hiss in pain, finally coming back to yourself. “What the fuck?” You clutch at your middle, but the vampire bats your hand away.

“Looks like he slashed you, pretty badly too. I can see your fucking intestines,” Then he’s putting pressure on the wound and you’re seeing stars it  _ hurts  _ so badly. Your eyes roll back a little, and you’re wondering how you got into that weird floaty third-person view of yourself a few minutes ago and if you can get there again. “Fucker, bitch, hey, stay with me. Come on, that bastard can’t have been the only person in your life, right? There’s gotta be someone you want to get back to.”

“Karkat,” you gasp without thinking.

“I really don't care,” The vampire nods along, and you’re staring into his eyes as he hovers over you with his hands bloody on your stomach, “Now, I can do something that’ll get you back to this Karkat character, it's not fucking pleasant, but it beats being dead. You want it?”

You nod, gritting your teeth, “Yes.”

You had no idea what you were agreeing to, then. If you had, you would’ve let yourself die.

When you woke up the next night, still in the dusty warehouse, the stranger was gone. You had no name, no way to trace him, and no desire to do so either.

So, you did what any newly-turned vampire with half a brain did. You hotwired your brother’s truck, because his keys must’ve still been in his pocket and no way in hell were you digging through the pants of a dead man, and drove your ass to the nearest 7-11. You walked in, went to the back corner of the mini-mart, opened the fridge and pulled out three pints of the first blood-substitute you saw.

The girl at the counter looked over your bloody, dirty, torn clothes and said, “Rough night?”

“You could say that.”

She nodded, “It’ll be $13.97.”

You threw her fifteen bucks, stalked out of the store with your purchase, and drove until you found a mostly abandoned rest stop. Once there, you drank so fast you nearly made yourself sick. You cried in that shitty old red Ford for maybe half an hour, then crossed two state lines and sold the truck at the first used car dealership that looked like it wouldn’t ask questions. Since then, you’ve been on your own. You’ve gotten by on odd jobs and your own luck. 

Your name is Dave Strider and when you walk into your living room on Thursday evening, you realize you weren’t dreaming at all. Karkat Vantas is sitting on your couch like you wish he had been seven years ago, and Kanaya Maryam is standing in your kitchen apparently helping herself to your coffee. Your past has come calling, and it is time to pay the piper.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Frankenstein chapter of like five separate drafts because I didn't plan anything before this, and now I'm actually planning things.

Walking into an apartment that is not, has not, and never will be your home while carrying the unconscious body of the man who was once the very definition of the word for you is not a comforting experience. Having Dave in your arms was, once, but now all you feel is a confusing mix of elation and fury. You have to be dreaming, right? But his weight is solid against your back, and you can feel him breathing against your neck in a way that all of your training shouts is dangerous, though you bury that thought deep. It’s Dave, for fuck’s sake. He wouldn’t hurt you,  _ couldn’t  _ hurt you. Except now he can, your brain screams. Except he did, your heart whispers.

You shake yourself from thought as Kanaya opens a door in the apartment and finds Dave’s bedroom. You walk in and drop him onto the bed, half expecting him to wake up in that very moment. He had never been a heavy sleeper, after all. All he does is groan lowly before shifting off his arm. When his mouth opens you can see his fangs, long and delicate in a way that seems painfully opposite to their danger. You flick the lights off and shut the door as you leave the room. Kanaya is already spreading paperwork across the island counter in the kitchenette.

“Should we talk about you half-sending Dave into a fucking coma?” your hands find your hips and you try to pin Kanaya with the anger-filled glare that makes your subordinates panic and get the fucking job done.

“Should we talk about you attempting to manipulate the altered mind-state I had Dave in for your own gains?” Shit. Right. Kanaya hasn’t been intimidated by you in years. You have a better chance of intimidating the fucking Psychopomp you sometimes have to call in on very difficult cases.

“Fucking-,” you drag your hands across your face in frustration, “I wasn’t trying to- I just, how can you blame me here, Kan? He disappeared. He faked his own death and left me to mourn without so much as a backward glance.”

“It doesn’t matter, Karkat. You  _ know _ this. You  _ know  _ what I do in another’s mind, how they relax and become more susceptible to speaking the truth. It is simply  _ not ethical  _ to ask someone if they love another while under that kind of effect.” She punctuates every stressed word by jabbing a finger against the counter as if to illustrate  _ this is the line, you fucking crossed it. _

You sink onto the couch which faces away from the kitchen. The television is in front of it, and beyond that is Dave’s bedroom. The couch is lumpy and uncomfortable. Your shoulders drop and your gaze drops to your shoes, “I know. I fucked up.”

Minutes pass and just as you’ve resigned yourself to the realization that she’s going to be mad at you for days, she sighs, and you can hear some papers rustling as she pauses, “I’m just as shocked as you are, you know.”

You throw your arm over the back of the couch and catch her sight again, “I-” you close your mouth and swallow, before saying in the quietest voice you can manage, “I have to wonder if we have him back, or if he’s going to disappear again.”

She shakes her head and shrugs in that way that screams  _ dear god I don’t know.  _ Her papers are split into three piles now, and you knew what the documents were before you came but you’re beginning to wonder if either of you will be able to get Dave to file them. Request to terminate death certificate. Registration of vampiric nature. Request to join Nest 124 as subsidized by APRIL. You know there’s a fourth document in Kanaya’s case, should he refuse to file the forms. Registration of Rogue Vampire (for use by APRIL agents only).

“Have you told anyone else yet?”

She shakes her head and you can see her fidgeting with the papers, “I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. That being said, I do have the Registrar coming.”

“Which Registrar?”

Kanaya turns around and began looking at the cabinets, “Do you think he keeps any tea around?”

“Kan, you can’t-”

The door opens.

Both you and Kanaya turn to look, Dave is standing there in his rumpled clothes and his hair is a mess. Your heart melts in a painfully familiar way while you watch him shift his weight from side to side. He looks like he’s thinking about closing the door and pretending this never happened.

You stand. His head tilts up from the ground and traces your movement, and some part of you delights in the attention. Another part kind of wants to punch him in the face.

“Good evening, Dave,” Kanaya interjects, and you turn back to her, “would you mind terribly if I helped myself to some tea?” She shakes a box of chamomile gently.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, knock yourself out, I guess,” Dave mumbles, nodding while he does so. He finally convinces himself to step out of the doorway and walks, rather mechanically, into the kitchen. He opens a cabinet and pulls out an electric kettle, plugs in the base and takes the pot to the sink.

You walk up to the counter and sit yourself down on one of the two barstools that are tucked under it. You glance over the paperwork Kanaya has laid out and see that she’s already started some of it. It won’t matter if Dave doesn’t agree to fill out the rest, though.  _ Don’t get your hopes up, Vantas. _

The tap turns on and after the pot is filled and the hot plate turned on, Dave leans back against the fridge and tucks his hands in his pockets. “So, what’s all this?” He asks, nodding to the papers on the counter.

You say nothing.

Kanaya tucks a stray bit of short hair behind her ear. She’ll be complaining it’s gotten too long within the week. “It’s ah. Well, these are documents that would enable you to, to come out of hiding, I suppose?”

“I’m not in hiding, though,” Dave mumbles, gaze focused on the kettle.

You snort, then lean over the table, jabbing each pile as you explain, “This will reverse your death certificate, along with some potential court appointments; This will recognize your legal rights as a vampire; and this will tie you to a nest- a vampire community.”

The kettle whistles, and Dave flinches. “That- it isn’t be possible.”

Kanaya turns her head and hums, then she clicks the kettle off and pours her tea. “Why not?”

He starts pacing, he drags a hand through his hair. If you were as close as you once had been to him, you might have done something. Stepped in his path, put a hand on his shoulder, pulled him into a hug. Instead, you reached across the table and stole Kanaya’s tea.

“Why not? Why  _ not?  _ Kan, I’m dead. I’m a vampire, I’m a mons-” Kanaya’s raised eyebrow stops his sentence, his movement. He turns and starts again. “It can’t be that simple. I left to- to protect you. I’m  _ dangerous. _ ”

Kanaya smiles and rolls her eyes. You can barely keep yourself from laughing.

Okay, you can’t keep yourself from laughing. It really doesn’t help when Kanaya begins to snicker as well.

Dave stops pacing, his hands fall to his sides limply. He stares at you both, dumbfounded. Without thinking, you reach out and catch Dave by the wrist. You tug him over to the counter and push him into the barstool beside your own. “Sit down, dumbfuck. Let’s talk some understanding into your unbelievably thick skull.”

Kanaya shifts the paperwork around so it faces your side of the counter, and begins to explain, “When you disappeared, you were declared dead. This paperwork will give you access to your name, your property, and any funds that the government took from your estate; providing the taxes you would presumably owe are paid from said estate,” she shifts to the next pile, “These documents would give you access to the protection and privileges afforded to vampires in our society, including the ability to have a fresh supply of blood delivered to your home. There are other opportunities based fro nest to nest, which are communities or colonies for vampires,” she picks up the third document and sets it gently atop the other two, “This paper, should you choose to fill it out and allow it to be filed, will allow you to join Nest 124, my nest, my community. Do you understand what filing this paperwork would provide you?”

Dave nods slowly, “I’ll do the first two.”

“You won’t join my nest?”

He shakes his head, “I can’t ask you to take care of me, provide for me. I’m good on my own.”

“I see. In that case,” Kanaya reaches down into her bag and pulls out the fourth stack of papers and two pens, “while you fill out those two forms, I’ll fill out this. You will be registered as a Rouge vampire in APRIL’s database, and as such will not be affiliated with any nest. Do start the papers, Dave. The Registrar will be here shortly to collect them.”

“Registrar? APRIL?”

“The person who will file them with our organization, APRIL. The American Paranormal Related Investigation Led Response Team.”

“Because APRILRT is a stupid acronym,” you interject, before sipping the tea you stole from Kanaya. Dave shrugs and picks up a pen. He begins filling out the papers, and a few minutes pass silently before a knock sounds at the door. “I’ll get it.”

You had already known who would be standing there, but as her sleek black heels clicked into the room you waited for the conflict. You didn’t wait long.

“David. Strider,” her voice is strained, but it doesn’t waver. You watch as Rose Lalonde approaches Dave slowly. He freezes in his seat, head tilting so he can see who is standing behind him.

“Oh, uh, hey Rose. Long time, yeah?” he chuckles awkwardly.

Rose stops. She inhales sharply, then she sets her bag on the couch. She takes her coat off and sets it on top of her bag. She turns back to face the kitchenette to see that Dave has not moved. You can see his knuckles are white on the pen in his fist. She approaches him, and her heels click against the tile.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

She stands beside his seat now. From where you’re standing, you can see her breathing harshly. Her hands come up to Dave’s face, and you can’t be sure from your angle but you think she might be crying. “I thought- we thought you were dead, Dave,” her voice is low, uncertain. You think you’re beginning to understand Kanaya’s ploy now.

He takes her wrists, pulls her hands away from him, “Technically, I am.”

Rose hums, pulls her hand away from Dave’s and places two fingers on his neck, then pokes his lip to see his fangs. “Well, you died, I see. But you have a pulse now, so I wouldn’t say you’re currently dead.”

“No, I’m definitely dead. There’s a certificate to prove it.”

Kanaya chimes in, “Not for much longer, if you’ll finish the paperwork.”

Rose turns quickly, looks at the papers on the counter. She picks up the Nest membership document, then notices the paper Kanaya is filling out meticulously. With a quick smirk in your direction she turns again, “So, only mostly dead?” She’s plotting. Kanaya is plotting. Did they plot together, is Rose acting? You wish you were in on this.

You can see the crack in Dave’s facade. His lip quirks up, and his hands find his pockets. He relaxes into the chair, he’s familiar with banter. He really can’t resist the opportunity to be a wiseass. “Realy, Ro? Did you just  _ Princess Bride  _ me?”

“Indeed I did,” she sighs, then flips though the papers in her hands, “So, joining Kanaya’s nest?”

“Oh. No.”

Rose quirks an eyebrow, drops her hand to her hip, “No?”

Dave shifts, squirming under her gaze, “No.”

“Why not?”

He gapes, looking up at the ceiling, “I don’t need-”

Rose throws the papers gently back onto the table, “If you say you don’t need people, or family, or friends, so help me Dave I will track you across the country and hound you until you submit to therapy. I’ve done it before, you know it is well within my power to do it again.”

And there it is. The silver bullet of Kanaya’s ploy. Will Dave really be able to say he doesn’t need family to his own sister? Unlikely.

Kanaya looks up from her paperwork and shoots you a wink. You walk around the island and stand behind her, look down at the paper in front of her to see that she has been swirling the pen across the paper pointlessly.

Smartass.

A few hours pass and Rose has bullied Dave into filling out the papers, even though he’s still protesting her filing them even as she tucks them into her bag. Honestly, it’s been years since you’ve been this amused. Dave keeps throwing up the same illogical paper-doll arguments and Rose just really isn’t having it.

“I’m a monster, Rose.”

“Oh, really? Killed someone, have you?”

“Well- no, but…”

“So then Kanaya is a monster too?”

“I don’t mean it like that and you know-”

“If you aren’t a killer and you aren’t generalizing all vampires as monsters, well then I really don’t see your point.”

“It’s not about being a vampire-”

“Oh, so you’ve always been a monster? Hurt everyone you care about, etcetera etcetera?”

“...yes?”

Her eyes light up in a way that you’ve become familiar with. It’s the  _ I’m about to end this man’s whole career  _ look. She turns to Kanaya first. “Has Dave ever hurt you, Kanaya? Have you ever considered him a monster?”

She smiles into her cup, a fresh brew of tea steaming beneath her lips. A mischievous twinkle that matches Rose’s is bright in her eyes, “No, don’t be silly. Dave couldn’t hurt a fly.”

He drags his hands down his face and groans in frustration. Rose turns to you without missing a beat, “And you, Karkat? Have you found yourself victimized by the  _ monster  _ that is David Elizabeth Strider?”

You shift on the couch, dropping your head into the palm of your hand as you turn to look at him, “Only if you count incessant rambling and poor taste in cinema as  _ victimization.” _

His hands drop from his face and his expression is loose, shocked, “What- No. Come on, I fucked you up, man. I mean- Fuck.”

Rose hums and taps a finger against her lips, “So this is about Karkat, then? I see. And praytell- how did you fuck him up?”

Dave slumps in his seat, still at the counter. A minute passes, and he sighs now resigned to telling what he considers to be the truth. “All those years- listening to my problems, seeing what I was going through. I wouldn’t let him do anything, I wouldn’t let him help. And then, later, after I moved out… he had to cope with my shit. Practically got a double-dose. Nightmares and screaming at like three in the morning, and there would be days where I couldn’t- I wasn’t good for him. I’m not good for anyone. I just fuck shit up and make things worse. And then I just up and fucking disappeared.”

His face is pressed into the counter, hands fisting in his hair behind his head. Seven years ago if you had found him like this you would have walked up and given him comfort- a hug, a hand on his neck, an ear to listen.

You sip your tea from the couch and watch.

Rose finally stops pacing and slides herself into the chair next to his. She sits quietly, still. Her hands are folded in front of her, and she seems lost in her own thoughts until you realize she’s making eye contact with Kanaya. Communication without speech. So they were plotting together.

Kanaya's eyes drift up to yours and then she side-eyes Dave, who is still face-down on the counter. Fucking son of a- they could at least give you script if they want your fucking help. “You know that’s not true, Dave,” You say, gruffly into your cup.

His shoulders tense, but he doesn’t respond. Fine. Hardball it is.

“I listened to you- your problems, your warnings, your requests to stay uninvolved because I cared about you. I wanted to do what was right by you, even if I didn’t think it was okay, or right. And then, when I finally got you out of there… well by then I was already so in love with you that listening, comforting, being there for you was what I wanted to do. If you want brutal honesty, I think the two years we had in that apartment were the best I’ve ever lived,” Suck on that, Strider. Put that in your fucking complex and smoke it.

He’s quiet, but you can still see the tension in his frame. He doesn’t turn around to look at you, “I still disappeared.”

You shrug, feigning the calm you had a moment ago. Fucking ouch. “That doesn’t make you a monster.”

He turns around and you can feel his eyes searching your face, but his shades are still in the way. What is he looking for? What does he find? He slides out of the chair, and you tense. What is he doing? Walking toward you. Why? What is happening? How do you react?

It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because he walks to the front door and pulls it open. He would have stepped though it too, if it weren’t for the sudden “Pop!” noise followed by the appearance of a girl all in red and the smell of decaying flowers. 

“Hi! There’s a corpse I want you all to come see!” Her smile is wide and unnatural, and her eyes glow with a light you’re uncomfortable describing.

Fucking psychopomps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt- Kill Someone


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, at this point I've figured out what kind of supernatural pretty much every character in this is/is going to be. Which means that I'll be using a lot more characters than I thought I would be when I first started writing this.

Your life was already pretty damn strange, being a vampire and all. But never have you experienced anything as strange as a whole-ass person just popping into existence right before your eyes. At first, you thought  _ holy fuck  _ which evolved into  _ holy fuck she’s tall  _ when you realized she was looking you directly in the eye, not tilting her head or anything. You looked down to see if she was wearing like, eight inch heels or something because women aren't usually that tall, and  _ that  _ was when you realized  _ holy fuck she’s floating.  _ Like, damn near a foot off the ground. And then you went straight into  _ fuck this fuck you why is this happening  _ headspace and completely gave up.

Like, sure. There’s a girl in a fucking hooded sports bra and high waisted leggings at your door. That you could totally handle. Oh, she floats? Sure, cool. Can do. She just popped into existence as you were storming out of your own apartment which is filled with people you haven’t seen in seven years because you fucked off to Arizona after you got bit? Why the fuck not, it’s just a normal Tuesday to you. But then. But  _ then  _ she drags you and a handful of other people to see a corpse? Alright, yep. You’re done. Tapping out. Crazy quota met for the fucking month, god _ damn. _

So, y’know. Now you’re standing over a corpse in another warehouse. There’s cops flitting around and shit, and the crazy corpse chick,  _ Aradia,  _ your brain supplies, is being cryptic and Karkat and Kanaya are trying to get literally any information out of her at all. Rose is standing there, flipping through paperwork on a clipboard that was handed to her as soon as she walked on site, and you’re wondering why the fuck you were invited to this… this fucking  _ corpse party  _ when Aradia floats over to you and smiles unnervingly.

“Did you see?” she asks, smiling wide. Totally out of place.

“The corpse? Yup. It sure is a dead guy.”

She rolls her eyes and fists her hand in the back of your shirt and literally drags you back to the corpse. You had taken one look at it when you walked in, then excused yourself to stand as close to the door as possible without being outside. Kanaya had driven you and Karkat here, and you really didn’t want to walk all the way back home. Almost as much as you didn’t want to look at the dead guy.

It’s not like you can’t handle dead things, though. Just… dead people are not exactly a fun time for you. Certainly not as fun as the Psychopomp thinks it should be.

“No, really  _ look,”  _ she points at the corpse. It’s old, kind of mummified, really. The skin is shrunk tight to the bones and has a sickly green tint to it. The piercings stick out oddly in the face, clear bumps where the bars cross under the skin, and the tattoos are hard to- wait.

You recognize those tattoos.

Snakes, curling around the bald guy’s head, the eyes of the snakes right over what’s left of the corpse’s ears and the little forked tongues sticking out and crossing the temples.

Fucking. Hell.

“That’s-” is your brain processing, what is happening, there’s no fucking way, that can’t be right, “He turned me.”

Aradia’s smile somehow gets wider, she claps her hands once and does this weird floaty-spin before she drags you by the collar again. This time, she pulls you over to Karkat and Kanaya.

“-have a positive ID?” Kanaya is saying, writing things down on her clipboard.

“ID in his wallet said Caliborn Coolidge, we’re running the name now- aliases, next of kin, the works,” he replies.

Aradia practically throws you into the conversation. Actually, no, she does throw you. “Tell them, tell them! Dave, you have to, I can’t tell the secrets of the dead.”

You rub your neck, trying to remove the feeling of your shirt digging into your skin, “So, uh,” you clear your throat and mumble, “I’m pretty sure the dead guy is the reason I’m…” you trail off, then flash your fangs at Kan, hoping she’ll get the message.

She must, because her eyes go wide and she shoves the clipboard into Karkat’s hands. She pulls out her cell phone and starts yelling orders as she dials. “I want a full sweep of the property, look for blood, another body, anything suspicious. I want someone testing the victim’s blood for cryptid markers, and rush that  _ fucking  _ background check.” People start scrambling, and you kind of want to do that too. She’s scary when she’s irate. Kanaya is on the phone in the next breath, “We need you down here, we have reason to believe the victim is the perp in an old case. You’ll want to get the Court liaisons down here too,” she pauses, “Yes. No. We need their opinions, too. You know that. What if the vic was Court blessed? I’m serious, get down here. Look, I know you’re the boss and you’re supposed to call the shots but this could be  _ very  _ bad,” her eyes flick to you, and she grimaces, “We think it’s related to the Strider case. Yes,  _ that  _ Strider.” 

The phone call ends, and Kanaya is walking back up to you, putting a hand on your arm, “Dave, are you certain this is your sire?”

You pull back from her touch, but nod, “I mean, the tattoos. Unless someone else has those, I doubt it.”

She nods once, then she’s diving back into her phone and walking away from you.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing against the wall trying to ignore Aradia as she stares at you. It’s not working very well. She’s just standing there, eyes bright and unblinking with that creepy ass smile on her face. It’s fine, you try to tell yourself, she’s just weird. People who spend all day around death are weird, right? It’s fine, you’re totally cool.

You finally snap, “Fucking what?”

Her grin gets wider, and she floats up a little higher. “I was there, you know. You were going to be mine. You were  _ supposed  _ to be mine, but that lady tripped. She spilled her coffee on you. Do you remember?”

You stare at her blankly behind the shades, shrugging to telegraph your confusion.

“That day. You walked home from work, and a lady bumped into you and spilled her coffee. Instead of going straight home like you were supposed to, you slipped into the coffee shop. Dried off with napkins and changed your shirt in the bathroom. It took maybe fifteen minutes, but that was all it took for him to get the message. He would have shot you when you walked in the door, but he got a message instead, all because you decided to change your shirt.”

You sink back into the wall, trying to ignore her. She’s not even making  _ sense  _ anymore.

She sighs, dropping her feet to the ground for the first time since you met her, “I’m glad you aren’t mine, Dave. It means a lot of people aren’t mine, a lot of people I’ve come to care about. I wonder if I’ll be sad when they are mine.”

You stare at her, trying to find her meaning, when her head whips to the side and she stares at the empty space outside of the warehouse, at a dying patch of grass. She makes a funny shrill noise, then pounces into the open area throwing her arms around a body as it appears.

A hissing snicker sounds before the person fully appears, but when the body solidifies completely a young man with pointed ears is standing there, both hands curled around Aradia’s arm as it crosses his neck. He’s lanky and disheveled, a honey-yellow shirt half tucked into a pair of jeans. They’re frayed and torn at the bottom, half covering mismatched shoes. “Playing Maiden this week, Radi?” he asks in a lilting, lisping voice.

She nods, slipping around him so she can wrap her legs around his waist and rest her chin on his head. He seems like he’s used to it because he slips his arms under her legs so she’s supported against his back.

“Oh, my  _ gods,  _ Sollux. I  _ hate  _ it when you act like this. We’re supposed to be  _ professionals, _ ” another voice calls from seemingly nowhere. And not like someone snuck up on you nowhere, literally nowhere, as in there’s no body attached to that voice.

At least, until the guy, Sollux you’re guessing, steps off the patch of grass which is looking decidedly  _ less  _ dead since he appeared. Then, a woman with the  _ messiest  _ fucking hair you’ve ever seen pops into existence with a scowl on her face. Her lips are painted blue and somehow her clothes are torn up worse than the mans. A whole sleeve is torn from her black shirt and you really don’t want to know how it happened.

All the same, an alarm in your head is just pinging  _ Danger!  _ So you try to back up into the warehouse, but all that does is draw their attention to you. Both of the newcomers offer you equally sharp-toothed smiles, but it’s the woman that speaks first.

“Well hello there. You can call me Vriska, may I have your name?”

You open your mouth to speak, but a hand slaps across your face before you can say anything. Not over your mouth, like you think the owner of the hand was trying for but it still shuts you up.

“She’s fae,” the owner of the hand says, as if that explains absolutely anything. You pinch the bridge of your nose and inhale sharply, deciding  _ fuck this.  _ You turn around, spot Karkat and walk over to him. You’re done, you can’t. There’s too much weird shit happening today, and you want to go home. You’re going to make Karkat take you home.

You get halfway across the room before you realize that you really didn't need Karkat to do that. You could have gotten an Uber, but it's too late, he noticed you walking over to him like you had reason to and now you have to follow through with it.  “Dave, what’s wrong?” he asks like he still fucking cares about the answer, going to far as to shove the clipboard into some rando’s hands and shoo them away.

There’s too many answers to that question, really. There’s too many people here, there’s too many  _ new _ people here, there’s too much attention on you, you don’t understand why all the new people are asking you questions, one of the new people  _ touched  _ you, and Aradia’s been freaking you out since like the second she popped into existence outside your apartment door. So, instead, you go with, “I need to go home, man.”

He pauses, looking you up and down like he used to when he could take five seconds max to figure out how fucked your head was. He must still be able to do that, because it only takes him about three seconds to nod and get a hand on the small of your back before he’s steering you out of the warehouse. Out of the fucking  _ crime scene  _ which is his  _ job  _ to investigate. As he passes Kanaya on the way out the door he asks for the keys and she hands them over without questioning it.

He gets you in the car and the drive is silent, save the radio as you fiddle with it. Kanaya keeps it on a classical music station and that is so not vibing with your nerves right now, but then you accidentally flip it to a country station and that’s  _ worse  _ so you just end up jabbing at the power button and sitting in tense silence.

You’re out of the car and halfway into the apartment complex before Karkat shuts the car off, and you really weren’t expecting him to follow you inside which is  _ stupid  _ of you. Of fucking  _ course  _ Karkat would be worried, concerned enough to follow a tense, angry vampire into it’s own fucking  _ lair  _ because he’s a good person and you’re so fucked up you send his good-deed radar pinging like crazy whenever he’s less than ten feet apart from you. And you’re so fucking out of it at this point, between finding the guy that turned you dead, and Aradia’s cryptic coffee bullshit which isn’t really all that cryptic when you turn it over in your head, and the fucking country radio reminding you of your Bro on the ride home; you’re so fucking out of it that you don’t realize what you’ve done until it’s over. 

Karkat has his hand to his neck, back pressed solidly against the door. His breathing is calm, but his eyes are wide. You taste blood in your mouth, and Karkat’s hand is to his throat but you can smell the blood in the air and taste it on your teeth and it all comes together in one sick thought as you push away from the door and land on your ass, scrambling back until you hit the side of the couch.

You bit Karkat. You bit him, drank him, fed from him.

And you want to do it again.


	6. Chapter 6

The basic training course for APRIL recruits usually takes about a year to work through. You have your generalized stuff, personality assessments and physical skill requirements just like any other federally organized unit which takes maybe three months to qualify for. Then, there’s the specialized training. You gain access to resources civilians just don’t have, you learn to spot different cryptid markers in the ways people walk, talk, and behave. You learn what glowing eyes mean for different species. A faeries eyes might glow after a deal is made, or after they outsmart you into giving up something. Finfolks eyes only glow under water or during a shapeshift. A Banshee glows right before it screams, and a Psychopomps glows when they’re collecting a soul or recalling a deads’ secret.

A vampire’s eyes glow when they need to feed.

You had been trained in self-defense, disarming moves, and double-talk techniques for Fae. You know never to give up your name, never to pick up a coat you think someone dropped, and how to count your heartbeats to make sure a vampire never takes more than a pint. In all of your training, the one thing drilled furthest into your head was this: If a vampire attacks you, they will go for your throat. Get your arms up, not because you’ll be able to stop the bite, but because you can apply pressure to their jaw and make them release like a snake.

And that’s exactly what you do.

You followed Dave into the apartment building, calling his name as you ran up the stairs behind him. He throws open his door, breaking the lock as he turns the handle. It bounces open again when he slams it behind him. When you slip inside, Dave is already fisting his hands in his hair and pacing.

“Dave?”

No response. That makes sense, he’s dealing with a lot all at once. A lot he presumably thought he’d never have to deal with again, maybe shoving all that paperwork at him alongside Rose was a bad call. Taking him to a crime scene, however much Aradia insisted it was necessary was definitely a bad decision. You close the door behind you and watch him for a minute. He’s mumbling to himself, talking with one hand as the other scratches across his scalp. Working himself into a panic attack? Probably.

Without really thinking about it, you reach out to place a hand on his shoulder, “Dave?”

Keep up now, because what happens next is very fast.

Dave stops pacing and his head turns to where your hand is on his shoulder. This is the first time you realize his eyes can glow bright enough to be seen  _ through  _ his shades. His hand comes up and clamps down on your wrist, and then he’s hissing in a way you’ve never heard outside of an investigation. He uses his grip on your wrist to push you back into the door at a supernatural speed. At the same time, while your stomach rolls from the sudden movement your training is finally kicking in and you’re pulling your arms in against your chest. Dave growls as your hands come up close to your neck, so you turn your head to the side which exposes the vein there. You drop your hands onto his shoulders in a way that’s supposed to be non-threatening but you know will leave you access to his face. You’ve been backed up against the door now, and he has one hand on your hip while the other finds the hair at the base of your skull and tugs your head further aside. For half a second you can feel his breath against your throat and you think he came back to himself just in time, but then his fangs are in your neck and you’re hissing out an instinctual breath behind your teeth. It doesn’t really hurt, at least no more than a double dose of a flu shot would. It’s as you’re reaching up to push at Dave’s mandibular joint that you get a sudden wave of  _ anguishfearpainstress.  _ It knocks you for such a loop that Dave probably gets three or four mouthfuls of your blood down before you move again, and even then it’s only to tuck his shades up to the top of his head so they stop digging into your jaw.

You drop the tension in your shoulders and try to calm your breathing. You know how to count out a pint, and if Dave doesn’t you can get him off your neck without hurting him. It’s fine, this is fine. You have to project that, because if you’re getting feedback from Dave it’s a non-zero chance that he’s got some latent mental ability and could feel your own panic if you let it show. He’s already going to feel guilty as hell for biting you, you reason. 

Ten minutes later, Dave’s teeth leave your throat and his head drops onto your shoulder. You feel a little dizzy, but Dave’s shaking like he’s the anemic one. So, you let him lean against you. You keep one hand on his shoulder and lift the other to the bite wound. Is it still bleeding? A little. Best to keep some pressure on it until you can get Dave to lay down. It’s as you’re coming up with a plan to get him on the couch that he snaps back to himself, then pushes away from you like you burned him.

He gets stuck up against the side of the couch and curls in on himself, making himself as small as possible. He buries his face in his knees and doesn’t look up as you drop to the ground in front of him.

“Dave, hey, come on. You’re okay,” you try to speak quietly, but that’s not really a volume in your register.

He shakes his head against his knees and you know he’s pushing his face against the bones there too harshly. “Bit you.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, no shit. It’s fine, I’m fine.”

He lifts his eyes from his knees and glances at you before he trails off your face and fixes his gaze somewhere in space. He mumbles as he answers, “No, fuck, I told you. I’m dangerous. I hurt you, I hurt people. God, this is it- this is why he wanted this. He wanted me to, to hurt people. To  _ have  _ to hurt people. I hate it, I hate this, I hate-”

You reach out to lift his face, but his eyes lock onto your hand and go wide. It’s then you realize you’re covered in your own blood. “Oh, Jesus- fuck,” you stumble to your feet and over to the kitchen sink. You scrub the blood off your hand, then use the camera on your phone to make sure you clean off your neck too. Dave is still balled up against the couch when you get back to him. He seems to be doing a little better, because his eyes follow you as you walk back to kneel in front of him again. You don’t really know what to say or do, now. The years seem to have put so much distance between you both.

“You don’t have to stay, man. I can kick my own ass to bed or something.”

You raise your eyebrow and ask, “Do you want me to leave?”

His eyes shift around, seems like he forgot his shades are still on top of his head. “I don’t want you to think you have to stay.”

“Dave,” you sigh, and he shrugs. Fucking elusive- No. “Get on the couch, I’m not staying on the fucking floor. Jesus, do you ever vacuum?” You rock yourself back onto your feet and offer a hand to help him up. He doesn’t take it, instead opting to bang his head against the arm of the couch like an awkward dweeb.

You walk over to the couch and drop into it, taking up the left armrest. You kick your feet up onto the coffee table and snatch the remote before Dave sits as far away from you as possible, seemingly hopeful that the couch will swallow him whole.

That so isn’t going to fucking fly.

You start flipping through the movie channels, and it takes maybe five minutes to find a channel that’s playing Hitch so that gets turned on and the remote finds itself tossed onto the coffee table. Maybe ten minutes into the movie Dave seems to have relaxed into the couch, so you take a chance and reach over and yank him so he falls onto his side and his head drops into your lap.

“Kar-”

“Shut the fuck up, Dave.”

He’s quiet for maybe thirty seconds, but then he snorts once and pulls his shades out of his hair. He tosses them onto the coffee table next to the remote and shifts around a little, but then he’s still. One arm curls across your lap in a familiar way as his cheek presses against your knee, how has that ever been comfortable?

Doesn’t matter.

You finagle your phone out of your pocket and play with it a little, just opening and closing apps as most of your attention is really on the movie. About five seconds into the Jet Ski scene, Dave opens his mouth.

“Sorry I bit you,” he mutters into your knee, like he’s half-hoping you won’t hear him.

“I snuck up on you, it’s on me.”

“No, man, come on. It wasn’t cool of me to-” he sits up now, makes eye contact to try and convince you. Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna work.

“Dave, you didn’t hurt me. Surprised me, sure. You needed it, and I could have gotten your fangs out of my neck anytime I wanted,” here you reach up and push your thumb lightly into his mandibular joint. His mouth opens slightly and you pull your hand away, shaking your head. “You’re fine.”

“But, dude-” he rubs lightly at his face where you touched him.

“Holy fuck,” you rub at your eyes, “If you want to talk over the issue of vampiric feeding and consent, fucking call Kankri. As far as I’m concerned, tonight’s on me for trying to grab you when you were freaking to fuck out.”

He’s quiet for three breaths, and then a grin spreads across his face, “So, should we talk about the like fifteen layers of irony that is my existence as a vampire?”

You groan, but Dave starts up anyway. His voice drowns out the movie as he talks about how he ran out of cash and gas in fucking Phenoix, Arizona like some sort of half-assed Twihard, and his blood-phobia, how his eyes were red before he was turned-

“Oh my fucking god, If you keep talking over Will Smith I’m going to strangle you. It’s not that I want to, it’s that it’s  _ required.” _

He leans against your side, apparently content to sit upright for now. Then he laughs and-  _ holy fuck.  _ You missed that sound more than you thought possible. Even now, as he’s talking over arguably one of the best movies of all time with his inane bullshit, granted it’s new inane bullshit, all you can think about is how much you missed this. You can feel the pain of it like a vice in your chest, and then a nagging little voice in the back of your head goes  _ still no reason to think he won’t leave again. _

Nope, not thinking about that.

After Hitch, Pursuit of Happyness comes on. It’s about halfway through that film you realize Dave has fallen asleep, so you take a second to text Kanaya.

\-- carcinoGentecist [CG] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

CG: HEY. DON’T EXPECT ME BACK TONIGHT.

GA: Why Not

CG: DAVE KIND OF HAD A FREAK OUT. HE SHOULDN’T BE ALONE.

GA: I Know You Still Care About Him

GA: As Do I And Rose

GA: But Do You Think That Perhaps Dave Is Freaking Out Because He Does Not Know How To React To Being Around Us Again

CG: …

CG: I’M NOT LETTING HIM DISAPPEAR AGAIN, KANAYA.

CG: I WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO HANDLE IT.

GA: I Know

GA: Be Careful Then

GA: A Lot Can Change In Seven Years

A minute passes, then another message comes in. 

GA: On Another Note

GA: I Would Like You To Ask Dave If He Would Be Willing To Come On This Case As A Consultant

GA: Weve Tracked Down The Next Of Kin But She Is Unwilling To Meet With Us

GA: Or She Was Until I Mentioned That Her Brother May Have Been Involved In The Illegal Turning Of Multiple Individuals

GA: And That We Had One Such Individual To Corroborate This Fact

GA: She Would Like To Meet With Dave And Has Stated That She Would Be Willing To Answer Our Questions After Doing So

CG: WHO IS SHE?

GA: Calliope Coolidge Owner And Proprietor of Black Viper

CG: THAT VAMPIRE BAR? THE ONE WE’VE HAD UNDER SURVEILLANCE FOR MONTHS?

GA: It Seems So

CG: I’LL TALK TO DAVE. IF HE’S WILLING TO DO IT I DON’T WANT HIM IN THERE ALONE.

GA: Of Course Not

\-- carcinoGentecist [CG] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --


	7. Chapter 7

_ It’s dark. _

_ You can’t move. _

_ Why can’t you move? _

_ It’s dark. _

_ You hear laughter in the distance. _

_ You hear nothing. _

_ You can’t see. Why can’t you see? _

_ It’s dark you hear laughter nothing laughter dark it’s dark.  _

_ Why is it dark? _

"Lil man.”

_ You hear nothing it’s dark you can’t move you can’t feel you can’t see you can’t he can’t he’s dead you can’t. _

_ It’s dark. _

_ Open your eyes, Dave. _

_ It’s still dark. You wish it was darker. Dark enough to drown out the devil. _

_ You can see his smile. White teeth and dark grim mouth and danger like a big cat, danger like a lion with a cheshire smile and you were the mad hatter once but you got free so how why now is he here? _

_ It’s dark. Not dark enough. _

"Lil man.”

_ No. Fuck this. He’s dead, you saw him die. _

_ He’s dead, you let him die. _

_ He’s dead, and you did nothing to stop it. _

“Proud of you lil man.”

_ No, fuck that. There’s no reason for that. _

_ Why? _

_ No. _

“Look around you, kid.”

_ Close your eyes, Dave. _

_ The bodies start to show up anyway. _

_ Rose, neck broken and twisted like a doll tossed to the floor. Eyes open and unseeing, blood on her throat. _

_ That didn’t happen. _

_ That could happen. _

_ Kanaya, mouth open and bloody, her teeth ripped out and stacked neatly next to her body. A bloody stake splitting her ribcage like a a torn open pomegranate. _

_ No. She’s alive. _

_ No. She’s dead. _

_ Aradia floats by, her eyes flat red and glowing. Her arms hang limply. Is it possible to kill a psychopomp? _

_ No. _

_ Yes. _

_ Why would you know? _

“Look at that, lil man. Destroying your own weaknesses just like you’re supposed to.”

_ Laughter. _

_ Silence. _

_ Lion grin, cheshire smile. _

_ He walks closer now, and you can hear the drag of metal on concrete. It’s getting hard to breathe now. _

"This is the real prize, Davey.”

_ He grabs your shoulder and turns you around. _

_ You feel nothing. _

_ Karkat. _

_ He’s sitting in a chair, limp and drowsy. He gives you a lazy grin you’ve never seen on his mouth. _

_ Cheshire teeth. _

_ Biting teeth. _

_ Teeth on the ground. _

_ Blood on the ground. _

_ Blood on your teeth. _

_ Blood in your throat. _

_ Blood on your hands. _

_ Karkat in his chair, drowsy and sated. _

_ Karkat in his chair, bleeding and crying. _

_ Blood on his throat. Blood on your teeth. _

_ Another corpse on the ground. _

_ The corpse on the ground. _

_ Snakes. _

_ Green snakes. _

_ Green snakes with teeth in your throat and memories in your mind and a cheshire grin and pain and swords on the concrete. _

_ The mad hatter without a hat. _

_ The cheshire grin with a sword on concrete, eyes hidden by a hat and shades. _

_ Shades to hide the bruises. _

_ Bruises iced by the only caring hands you’ve known. _

_ The only caring hands dropping limp to the ground with a sick thunk. _

_ Karkat on the ground. _

_ Blood on the ground. _

_ Blood on your teeth. _

“Proud of you, Davey.”

_ Wake the fuck up, Dave. _

_ Cheshire grin and teeth and blood on teeth and blood on your hands and metal on concrete and nails on a chalkboard and nails on your skin and sword on your skin. _

_ You feel nothing. _

_ You hear nothing. _

_ Wake up, Dave. _

_ Wake up from what? _

_ Bodies on the ground. _

_ Blood on the ground. _

_ Open your eyes, Dave. _

_ Swords on your skin like needles in a pincushion. Tiny swords, the kind that are toothpicks. _

_ Toothpicks in your skin. _

_ Wood in your skin. _

_ Burning in your skin like a pincushion, pinpricks of pain and flame and death by a thousand cuts and swords on concrete and- _

_ Open your eyes, wake up! _

_ -blood on the ground and blood on your hands and blood on your teeth, danger to everyone you ever loved, danger to anyone you’ve ever met- _

_ Dave! _

_ -better to run, says the cheshire grin. He knows he won. He’s dead but you’re the one suffering but you’re still too much of a little bitch to end it- _

_ Wake up! _

_ -blood on your teeth and blood on your hands, blood to live and blood to die and pain every time you feed and every day you don’t feed- _

_ Damn it, Dave! _

_ -blood to survive, because you aren’t really living anymore and every minute is torture and he’s dead but he still won because he doesn’t even need to lift a finger to hurt you anymore. _

_ Bodies on the ground. _

_ Bodies you put on the ground. _

You sit up with a gasp so fast you fall off the couch.

On hands and knees you scramble for the bathroom, tears on your face even as you start to get sick. You shake and sob as your stomach clenches. You shake more when hands meet your skin, hot where you’re clammy. And then your hair is being brushed out of your face, and there’s a hand rubbing across your shoulders and a calm voice is murmuring calm words that you haven’t heard in over seven years.

You cry harder.

“Dave, are you alright?”

No, fuck no you aren’t. You nod anyway.

Karkat pulls you closer and you go tense, you have to push him away, that’s what you’re supposed to do to keep him safe. To keep him  _ alive. _

He sighs, then pulls away. You slump against the wall half in relief, half in disappointment. The water runs in the sink. A warm, wet towel runs across your cheeks and your eyes drift open. Karkat is focused on what he’s doing, but he catches your gaze before he goes back to wiping the tears away.

“Bad dream?”

You’re too tired to answer, so you snort and roll your eyes before dropping your head back against the wall. You hit the corner of the toilet paper holder that’s mounted there. Ow. Fuck.

Karkat is frowning. His face scrunches up, and his eyebrows come together in a familiar way that you want to reach up and smooth out.

Better not to touch him.

He holds out a hand for you anyway.

You take it and he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into him, he’s stronger than the last time he did that. His arm catches around your waist to steady you both, but he stumbles back into the door anyway. His mouth is open slightly, and you can see as much as smell the blood rising to his cheeks. You want to kiss him. You want to push away.

He blinks twice and looks away. “You should brush your teeth,” he mumbles, setting you both properly back on your feet.

You step back and pick up your toothbrush, turning on the tap.

He slips out of the bathroom with a huff, and you can see him drag a hand through his hair as he pulls the door closed behind him.

You meet your own gaze in the mirror.

Your teeth are still stained pink.

You brush twice and rinse once, and if you make your own gums bleed while doing so no one else will ever know.

When you come back out of the bathroom, there’s two steaming mugs of something on the coffee table and Karkat is focused on his phone, typing quickly. You sit down on the couch and keep a few inches of space between your body and his. You pick up the mug in front of you. “What’s this?”

He looks up from his phone for a second, “The end of your powdered blood substitute. Kanaya says it tastes like crap, but you just got sick so you probably need it.”

You shrug and take a mouthful. Yup, still tastes like crap. Better than biting people, but it’s like living on anchovies, you could do it but it still sucks.

Karkat keeps texting, and you keep drinking until the mug is empty. You kind of feel like you’re going to get sick again, but that might be the blood substitute.

Eventually, Karkat puts his phone facedown on the coffee table and pulls his knees up to his chest. He slumps down into your shitty couch and closes his eyes.

“You good, dude?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You were screaming in your sleep, Dave.”

You shrug, trying to project calmness. Inside you’re still shaking, clips of the nightmare flickering past your eyes when you blink. “It happens.”

His eyes open and meet yours. Where the fuck are your shades? “I couldn’t get you to wake up. You were screaming, and crying and I couldn’t get you to open your eyes.”

“It’s fine, man. Not on you.”

He’s quiet, for a minute. It’s unusual how quiet he’s gotten, you think, but maybe that’s a mix of seven years distance and a bit of maturity along with the responsibilities he’s taken on from work.

“Do you-” he hums, turning to face you fully, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” you shake your head. Fuck no, you do not want to talk about it. The smell- the color of blood on the ground. It’s still fresh in your mind, and you still feel nauseous.

He raises an eyebrow, shifts so he’s sitting like a half normal person instead of hugging his knees to his chest, “Do you  _ need  _ to talk about it?”

Jesus fucking- “Spending time with Rose, I see.” He makes a face and you know you’ve lost this fight, you run a hand through your hair with a huff, “I mean- yeah, but maybe… later? Just- not now. It’s too- It’s still in my head, man.”

He nods, and picks up his phone. He just turns it in his hands for a minute before licking his lip and saying, “Caliborn Coolidge’s sister wants to speak with you.”

Okay, let’s go along with this entirely new topic of conversation. Why not? It’ll at least serve to distract you from the flashes of nightmare still in your mind, “Uh, why?”

“Sometimes it happens, especially with vampires who were turned before the world knew about paranormals. She might want to keep secrets in the family, or give you an inheritance or some shit. Either way, she won’t talk to us without you. We’d like you to come on the case as a consultant, ask her some questions and see if we can find a lead.”

“We?”

“APRIL as a whole, Dave. As it is, we’re supposed to keep you aware of the investigation since you’re one of his fledglings, and the one who identified him. Protocol.”

You nod along, half listening. God, you swear you can still taste his blood on your teeth. You shouldn’t be able to, you have to be imagining it. It’s been hours, and you brushed your teeth and you’ve drank something else since then. But the sweet, rich flavor clings to the back of your fangs and- and you totally just missed what Karkat said. Fuck.

“-so we’ll get a meeting set up, it’ll probably be at her club, though, since we aren’t currently considering her a suspect. We’ll have you wired, and we’ll see if she’ll let either Kanaya or I come with you.” Yeah, owning up to the fact that you weren’t listening for most of that would probably be a bad call.

A week later you’re sitting in the back of a van with Karkat. He’s rummaging through bins and pulling out a series of wires and what looks like tape. Kanaya turns around in the driver’s seat as you watch him.

“Do you remember what you’re supposed to ask her, Dave?” She asks, pushing a pair of sunglasses into her hair.

“Uh, yeah. Does she know who killed him, why, if she has any information that might help, right?”

She nods, and Karkat stands as best he can in the cramped storage space of the van. He reaches into one of the overhead compartments and pulls out two metal cases before he sits back down. He flicks one case open and pulls out three little white pieces of plastic. He hands one to you, “Put that in your ear.”

You put that in your ear. Karkat and Kanaya do the same with the other two. There’s a low buzzing noise, which you assume means it’s working. Cool.

Karkat steps closer to you, dragging over the little milk crate he’s sitting on along with a handful of the wires and tape, “Take your shirt off.”

Sorry, what? No way you heard him correctly.

Kanaya turns back around in her seat and you catch her eye in the rearview mirror. You absolutely heard him correctly.

“Why?” You can practically see Karkat trying not to roll his eyes at your stupidity. Wire you up. Duh. Right. You start undoing the buttons of your red dress shirt and try not to think as you slip it off your shoulders, draping it across your lap. The undershirt comes up over your head and you can hear the stifled gasp Karkat makes as the huge scar across your stomach comes into view.

You sit there for a few seconds trying not to let yourself feel awkward in front of your ex and his cousin. Right, that totally works. You absolutely do not jump when Karkat touches you and starts taping wire to your chest.

When he’s done you slide your shirt back on and move to get out of the van.

“Wait, Dave,” Karkat’s hand finds your shoulder and you sit back down. He seems to freeze for a moment, but shakes himself out of it, “If anything goes wrong, ask her for a glass of water. Kanaya and I will come get you out.”

You nod and slide out of the van. Nothing should go wrong, it’s still daylight. The club won’t be open for a few hours yet, and Calliope knows that you’re working with a government agency. Right?

Right.

You walk up to the side door of the Black Viper club, pull it open and step inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing nightmares.


	8. Chapter 8

The Black Viper club had been, in some iteration, open since the 1720’s. The original owner, one C. Coolidge, had once helped a hurt and scared young woman get back on her feet. Since then, the building had been passed down from generation to generation, always to another C. Coolidge. Of course, if one was aware of the existence of supernaturals it would seem obvious that the building had changed owner only once.

Since the mid 1970’s, The Black Viper club had catered to a unique crowd. The building was carefully maintained, furnished in wood because silver or iron would burn the clientele, but wood was only dangerous when not properly cared for. When open, the club has a tendency to be described as eerie, mysterious. This is owed to the decor, of course. Mirrors line the walls, painted glowing green eyes visible in the reflections that double and triple over themselves like a funhouse. Fog machines send curls of grey mist across the dance floor, and the condensation reflects back the flashing, bouncing red and purple lights. The wooden tables, painted black as they are, line the walls and seem to sprout from the floor like rotten mushrooms. This hellish room is made more demonic in nature by the patrons themselves, all of whom are required to wear a mask in order to gain entry to the club. Anonymity is the word of the hour, but between the bartender and the bouncer the patron’s safety is ensured. Anyone who would dare to violate the policy of nonviolence in the club is brought to see the proprietress herself, and never welcomed back into the club should this course of action be necessary.

During daylight, however, the club is spectacularly lacking in haunted atmosphere. The chairs rest upturned on their tables, and the fog machine does not run. Regular yellow-white bulbs burn in the ceiling lights, controlled by a switch behind the bar. Most of the time, the few employees are not required to wear their masks before opening. Today, however, the aforementioned bartender and bouncer were asked to do so. They had also been instructed that someone would be coming to meet with their employer, and that they were only to point this person in the direction of her office.

This is all to say that when you opened the door to the club, pulled open by a carved snake door handle, and were wordlessly pointed to a door hidden in the mirrored wall by two weirdoes in masks you were kind of freaked out. Your life is just determined to get weirder and weirder, it seems.

The mirrored door was hardly noticeable in the bright working lights, and it must have been impossible to find if you didn’t know where to find it in the dark. It opened into a dark hallway which then widened into a much more sensibly furnished office. It was bright, colorful and smelled softly of the vanilla sugar wax melter which had been plugged into the entryway electrical socket. Behind a large wooden desk, sitting in a large wing-backed leather chair was a woman. Her white hair was pulled back from her face in a loose braid, and her face was covered in a dark green mask which ended at the tip of her nose. Beneath that, what you could see of her face was deeply scarred. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a smile, and it was then you could see two delicate looking fangs extending down.

“You’re Dave Strider, then?” her voice was clear, but soft.

You nodded, before stepping forward and slipping into one of the two chairs that sat on the opposite side of the desk.

She hummed, then turned her attention back to the papers in front of her, “So, you’re my brother’s fledgling. Was it money, revenge, or spite that made him turn you?”

You sit there in stunned silence, too long apparently, because her attention drifts back to you and you can see her eyes flicking across your face. Her head tilts and she frowns, “I don’t understand. You aren’t the kind of person Caliborn normally dealt with,” she pauses, then stands and walks around to lean against the desk in front of you, “You didn’t choose this, did you?”

“You’re a telepath, I guess?”

She smiles, then makes a dismissive gesture, “Oh, I’ve been everything at one time or another. But I’m more interested in your story than my own.”

You gape at her, confused and maybe a little bit frightened, then shake your head, “Look, I’m only here to ask you a few questions. See if you know anything about who killed your brother.”

She sighs, then twists and settles herself back behind her desk, “Over the years I have learned never to give away something for nothing,” There’s a bit of mischief sparking in her eye and you’re wondering where you’ve heard that phrase before, but the thought is gone before you can grasp it.

“Your brother is dead, don’t you want whoever killed him to face up to that?”

She leans back into her chair with a shrug, “I think I could ask you the same, right?”

You tense in your seat, biting back your words for a moment, “The person who killed my brother is dead.”

“And the world is a better place for it,” she smiles, but even with the mask in place you aren’t sure it reaches her eyes. You really freaking hate telepaths.

“Look, do you have any information on this, or not?” 

It’s then that the intercom in your ear buzzes to life, and Kanaya’s voice comes across lowly, “Dave, don’t snap at her. It’s more likely she’ll talk if you’re polite.”

Calliope seems to be playing now, because she places both her hands palm-down on the desk and stands, leaning forward. She reaches out and you think she’s going to touch you, but she snaps up a piece of candy from the bowl in the corner instead. “I do,” she unrolls the sweet and pops it into her mouth, “but again, I won’t give out anything when I get no return. Especially not to help the likes of Caliborn.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You don’t like your brother.” It’s not a question, you can hear the truth of it in her words.

She grins, and you can hear her rolling the candy across her tounge as it clacks against her teeth, “No more than you liked yours, I suppose.”

You make it maybe two minutes in the silence that follows before you slump back in the chair, “Fuck it, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Why did he turn you? You aren’t the kind who would have searched out this curse, nor the kind that would have crossed his path and vexed him, so what was his motivation? He never did anything unless he thought it would serve his own purpose.”

You run a hand through your hair, and then proceed to tell Calliope everything you remember about the night you were turned. She listens attentively, and you think there are a few moments when she writes down what you’ve said. It’s odd, and you feel like you’re being analyzed the whole time. Maybe you are. Maybe it’s just the first time you’ve told anyone this story and you’re nervous because of it.

When you finish, Calliope looks up with a smile, “Self-preservation, then.”

You cross your arms over your chest, and you can hear whispering in one ear. Kanaya and Karkat must be talking, not realizing one of them isn’t covering their mic. “Sure, whatever. Doesn’t really make a difference to me.”

She shakes her head, “No, you don’t understand. He only turned you so you could corroborate his story if he were ever caught. In a court of law, killing your brother was self-defense and turning you would be preservation of life. I never understood why-”

“Look,” you sit forward and rest your elbows on your knees, “I really don’t care. Between your brother and mine, my life was over. I’m sitting here now, asking you if you know anything about who killed your brother because someone I hurt  _ because  _ of what our brothers did asked me to.”

Her smile drops, and she falls back into her chair once more, “All I can tell you is that the person who killed Caliborn is the same person who killed the other three that Mr. Vantas and Ms. Maryam are investigating.”

In your ear, Karkat’s loud voice buzzes, “How does she know that? Dave ask her how she knows that.”

“How do you know that?”

Her eyes spark with mischief again, and she smiles knowingly, “I’m sorry, Dave. You’ve already given me the answer I was looking for.”

“Then ask me another question, come on. The investigation needs leads.”

She stands and walks to the office door, “I don’t have any more questions for you at the moment, but I do believe there was one Mr. Vantas asked you that still awaits an answer if you’re feeling like providing clarity,” You stare at her, confusion hidden behind your shades, but she pulls open the door and gestures for you to leave, “Please, feel free to come visit us here during regular business hours. I’ll ensure you and your friends are on the list.”

So, you leave. You walk down the dim hallway, then pull open the mirrored door and slip back into the unopened club. The two people in masks who pointed you to Calliope are by the bar. One, a dark haired man, stands behind the bar wiping glasses down as he looks over the cards spread before the other. His mask covers the top half of his face, but his deep green eyes meet yours with a nod as you walk out of the building. The second person wears a bulky blue hoodie and their hair is dyed bright pink. Their mask covers their entire face, including shaded bubbles over their eyes. You still feel like they’re watching you as you close the door behind you.

Karkat slips out of the van as you approach, “What the hell was that?”

“Dude, I so don’t want to talk about it, okay? You’ve got more information, now, at least,” you clamber up into the vehicle, slumping into the passenger seat before Karkat can beat you to it. After an experience like that, you need to be buckled in more than he does.

“Still, it was odd,” Kanaya sighs, putting the vehicle into gear as Karkat swings the door shut and settles himself in the back, “She answers questions like she’s-” she shakes her head and cuts herself off, “Nevermind, that’s ridiculous. She’s clearly a vampire. It seems she’s older than we anticipated, though. Perhaps that has something to do with it.”

“You know the old ones always act weird,” Karkat supplies from the back, “She’s probably just been burned too many times and is being cryptic and careful,” he runs a hand along the side of his head, “I just wish we knew  _ how  _ she knew the cases were connected. The MO doesn’t match, the other three victims were human as far as we can tell. Maybe it was Caliborn and another vampire committing the murders, and his partner got antsy?”

“Our working theory and profile only supports one killer,” Kanaya shakes her head, “We’ll have to reevaluate, given this new information. Of course, it’s always possible Calliope was lying.”

Something about that doesn’t sit right in your stomach, “No, I don’t think she was.”

Kanaya looks to you for a second, trying to get a better read on you. She hums thoughtfully, then turns her attention back to the road, “Let’s assume she isn’t, just for now. I think we have to go over the case files and autopsy reports again.”

Karkat groans from the back of the van and thumps his head against the table, “They’re all at the Nesthouse.”

Kanaya smiles, flipping the blinker on as she does, “Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to show Dave around the place. He is, afterall, the newest member.”

And then it’s your turn to groan.


	9. Chapter 9

Do you know what’s great about Interstate 17? Absolutely nothing. It’s two and a half hours of driving, half of which is in a national park which means _trees._ Worse than that, the two and a half hours of driving is increasingly awkward because you’re sitting in the back of some shitty soccer mom wanna be minivan _silently_ in the third row staring at the back of Rose’s head.

Kanaya had driven the cliché white van back to APRIL’s base of operations, about a thirty minute drive from the Black Viper, and switched it out for the silver Honda Odyssey you were now riding in. When making the switch, Kanaya had slid past you into the passenger seat, apparently ready to play navigator. You had been ready to slide into the second row when Rose came jogging out of the building with a bag full of paperwork and her laptop bouncing against her hip. She quickly took up residence in the seat behind Kanaya and spread her papers across the seat beside her, forcing you into the third row. So, on top of an annoyingly long drive in a minivan, you had been sitting in the middle seat like one very unhappy camper. 

This is all made worse when Karkat pulls the Honda into the parking lot of the first Walmart he sees once you cross into Flagstaff. Not because it’s Walmart, but because he opens the driver-side door and slips out of the car before walking around to the passenger side and climbs into the backseat. A look of surprise crosses his face, as if just remembering you’ve been in the vehicle the whole time. “Can you move over?”

You slide to the side, moving out of the middle seat and taking up residence behind the paper-covered seat. You’re expecting Rose to clean up and move up into the front seat since it seems like Kanaya is taking her turn behind the wheel. Instead, Karkat slides into the third row with you, yawning and pulling a pillow out from the limited cargo space behind the seat. He tucks it between his head and the window before dropping his feet into your lap and closing his eyes.

Rose does not move.

Kanaya turns on google maps and soon the vehicle is filled with the sounds of classical music, “Make a left turn in one point five miles,” and Rose’s shuffling papers.

Another hour passes before Rose yawns and closes her laptop, then reaches to the side and lowers the back of her seat far enough back that she bumps Karkat’s shoulder. This wakes him from the half-sleep he’d been drifting in. He grumbles lowly, dropping his feet from your lap to the floor. “You know I only got like two hours of sleep last night, Rose.”

She rolls her wrist in a dismissive gesture, then drops her hand into her bag and pulls out an eyemask, “That is entirely your own doing, Karkat.”

“I have insomnia,” he snipes back with a huff.

“No arguing, please,” Kanaya calls from the driver’s seat.

“You always did like Rose best.”

Rose smiles at that, teasingly sticking her tongue out at Karkat before dropping the eyemask over her eyes and curling up in her seat, “Wake me when we get there.”

“I’ll wake you by dropping your ass on the pavement,” Karkat mumbles before dropping his pillow in your lap. Your confusion at this action only lasts a second because his head quickly follows. He bends his knees so he can lay across the third row and drops an arm over his eyes. It’s only a few minutes before his breath becomes deep and even, but you know he’s not completely asleep.

You have no idea what to do with your hands.

 _Come on, Dave. This can’t be_ that _difficult._

Kanaya meets your eyes in the rearview mirror and you can see the amusement playing across her face as you hold your arms up awkwardly, trying to figure out how to avoid touching Karkat. Obviously, that is not going to work.

You look around a bit and realize that you can prop your right arm up on the windowsill. Okay, cool. That takes care of one hand. Totally natural. Maybe if you twist you can rest both arms there?

“Can you maybe _not_ move your fucking legs, Dave?” Karkat bitches, one eye squinting open under his arm.

Okay, no. Apparently that won’t work. “Sorry, man.”

He huffs, closing his eye and shifting his weight so it rests more evenly in your lap.

You end up tossing your left arm over the back of the seat, which is highly uncomfortable but you’re determined to deal with it. At least, for like an hour. Then you can feel your muscles aching and your hand is going a little numb because of how stretched out you’ve left your limb.

“Just rest it on his stomach, Dave,” Kanaya calls from he front seat and you flinch a little at the sudden voice.

“I thought we agreed you’d stay out of my head, Kan?”

“I’m not in your head, you’ve been flexing your hand for half an hour.”

You stop flexing your hand. You clear your throat, “How much further do we have to go?”

Kanaya hums, turning her head slightly to catch a view of the mile marker as you pass it, “Oh, another hour or so. I suggest you make yourself comfortable.”

“Why didn’t you guys have the files with you? Aren’t they kind of important on a case?” Just put your arm down, Dave. It’s seriously not that hard. Karkat is mostly asleep and anyway, it’s not like he’s going to care.

“We sent them back to the nesthouse so an agent there could read up on the case and draw their own conclusions, make copies, and turn them into an audio recording for the head of APRIL. Just a common bit of bureaucracy.”

“I don’t get how APRIL and your nest are connected, though? Why did the paperwork all get sent this far away. Aren’t there closer agents who could do that stuff?”

“Nest 124 is the favored location because we host a lot of high-level APRIL agents, as well as many well known vampires and other supernaturals. It’s extremely secure.”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘other supernaturals?’”

Kanaya glances out the corner of her eye as a large container truck speeds past her left, “Nest 124 is unique, I suppose. We offer sanctuary not only to vampires, but several other species including humans, fae, and many subspecies of shifters. Plus we have nesthouses across the country, and we’re starting to open locations in other countries.”

“So, wait. This nest isn’t just like one creepy old building with a bunch of vampires in it?”

Kanaya laughs.

You slump back in your seat, and finally, _finally_ drop your arm into a comfortable position across Karkat’s hips. He shifts in his sleep, and his hand finds your wrist. His fingers curl lightly as he moves, his knees flex and one leg falls off the seat and drops to the floor of the van. He looks more comfortable like this, at least as comfortable as he can look for someone trying to sleep in the third row of a moving van.

True to her word, an hour and twenty minutes later, Kanaya is pulling the van into the driveway of a large building with a tall black metal fence surrounding the property. The gate slides open in the middle after Kanaya punches a code into a stand alone keypad. She pulls the van into a parking space behind a few other cars, then shuts it off and hops out of the vehicle. She walks around to the trunk and pulls out a few of the bags, “Wake Karkat, would you?” and then she’s walking up the laid-brick path to the front door before you can protest.

Okay, cool. A new challenging task that you really don’t want to do. He was always a grump to wake up, and you can’t imagine that’s changed in the years you’ve been gone. Sighing, you shift and grab hold of Karkat’s shoulder and start shaking him gently.

He groans and turns over, pulling his legs up onto the seat and burying his face in your stomach. His arms wrap around your waist tightly, and your arms shoot back up as though in surrender. Right. Grouchy, and clingy.

“Dude, Karkat, c’mon. You’ve gotta get up,” you try, dropping your hands to his arms and trying to pry him off you.

Impossibly, he squeezes you tighter, shaking his head and mumbling “Don’ wanna,” into your shirt.

Kanaya appears back at the trunk of the van, and she pulls more bags into her arms. She glances down at Karkat, who is buried so far into your lap it’s like he’s trying to go _through_ you and dig his face into the seat cushion. “Shall I get Mother, then, Karkat?”

Again, he groans, but grabs your shoulder and pulls himself up. He leans over the back of the seat, crushing you against it as he reaches down and pulls up a backpack, “I’m up, Jesus fuck, fine.” He tilts as he leverages the bag over the seat and your hands jump up to steady him of their own accord. This, of course, means that when Karkat pulls himself upright he’s on his knees above you and you have your hands on his hips. You can feel the heat in your cheeks even as he turns away and stands as best he can in the cramped van.

He climbs over Rose, knocking her legs from their resting place on the center console as he does so. “Rude,” she mumbles sleepily as she pulls her eyemask from her face. Karkat either doesn’t hear her or pretends not to, but he makes his way into the building as well.

Rose yawns as she cleans up her papers and neatly tucks them back into her bag. A few minutes later, she finally gets out of the van. She glances back into the vehicle and you realize you haven’t moved since Karkat left. “Are you ready, Dave?” she asks you with a small smile.

You find your voice and answer honestly, “Hell no.”

She smirks, “Too bad. Get your ass up, you need to go greet Rosana.”

Rosana. Kanaya’s mother. Shit.

For the first time in nearly six hours of driving, you move. You hear your spine pop as much as you feel it and hiss out a low breath as you half step, half fall out of the van.

“That should teach you to stay still for so long,” Rose snarks as she walks with you up the path.

“Have you ever tried to move with that grouch on your legs, Rose? The _glare._ It’s enough to stop a freight train, I swear.”

She climbs the steps quickly and pushes open the door as she responds, “Yes, well, you would know better than most of us how much trouble he is to wake up.”

You follow her up the steps and into the building. As you step inside you find Kanaya and Karkat standing off to the side of a grand staircase speaking with two women you _sort of_ recognize. You might have met them once or twice, what feels like a very long time ago. Rose walks up to the small group without hesitation, jumping into the conversation without preamble. You get maybe a moment of reprieve before the group’s attention turns to you standing awkwardly in the doorway.

The one with tattoos- Patria? Patricia?- is the first to excuse herself from the conversation. She walks up to you and extends her hand, “Hello, Dave. It’s been quite a long time since I’ve seen you- do you remember me?”

You take her hand, shaking it quickly, “Uh, you’re Kanaya’s sister, right? I’m kind of blanking on your name, sorry.”

“Porrim,” she smiles, “I understand you’ve recently joined the nest?”

You risk a glance at Rose. She’s hugging Kanaya’s mother, but you swear you can feel the slight hint of her smugness in the air, “I guess.”

Porrim nods, turning slightly and gesturing to the hall on the opposite side of the stairs from the small group, “In that case, let me show you around a bit. Kanaya and Karkat will be busy catching Mother up on the case, and I’m certain Rose has a bunch of filing to do. We can rejoin them after you have a feel of the place.”

You shift your weight awkwardly, looking to where Karkat stands as he speaks with the group you have no intention of joining.

Porrim catches notice, and her painted lips twitch up into a smile. You notice the ring which divides her lower lip as she catches it between her teeth, “Unless you’d be more comfortable waiting until Karkat is done? I could take you to the kitchen, get you something to eat while you wait.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, “Uh, yeah. I mean- no offense, I just think I’d do better with someone I know. You know?” Way to go, Dave. Could you sound anymore awkward?

“I know,” she smiles again, and you can see mischief written across her face in an expression startlingly similar to one you’re familiar with on Kanaya’s face. The only difference here is the gold rings that rise with the arch of her eyebrow. “Well, this way then,” and she gestures down the hallway.

She walks beside you silently, then shoulders open a door on the left side of the hall. Inside is a big industrial kitchen with huge stainless steel refrigerators lining the back wall. She glides past you- that’s really the best word for it, she moves so smoothly- and opens one of the fridges. “Do you have a preference?”

You pull yourself up onto the counter across from the wall of fridges, it must be a prep station for food because it’s clear of appliances but there are drawers and cabinets beneath counter. “On what?”

She pops her head out of the fridge and you see a pouch of blood in her hand as she pins you with a look, “Well, I was referring to blood type, but you can answer that question however you please.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head, “Honestly, I usually drink substitutes.”

She makes a face as she starts prepping the blood bags, shaking the pair of them gently before draining them into two mugs and placing each into one of the two microwaves, “In that case, answer my question in a different sense.”

It takes you a minute to pick your proverbial jaw off the floor, but by the time Porrim is handing you a warm mug of O positive you’re snorting and trying to play it off, “I haven’t dated anyone in like, seven and a half years.”

She looks up at you over the rim of her mug, smirking smugly, “That’s _not_ what I asked, but I’ll play along. So, Karkat, then?”

You choke on your blood. Your eyes are wide behind your shades, which you are immensely grateful for in this moment. “What- I mean, no. He and I- We’re friends. We _were_ friends, I mean. I don’t-”

She laughs, cutting you off, “Dave, relax. I already knew about you two. No one here is going to judge you for it, except maybe to say you could have done better than Shouty McVulgarity. An affectionate nickname, I assure you.”

“A nickname you know I despise, Porrim,” a new voice calls from the doorway, before Karkat walks into the kitchen and snatches your mug from your hand. Before you can protest, he takes a sip and gags, “Oh, jesus fuck, blood? I figured you were getting him tea. Fuck, that’s nasty. A little warning next time, Porrim, damn it.”

“How was I supposed to know you were going to do something so stupid, Karkat? Kanaya is the telepath, not me.”

Karkat pushes the mug back into your hands before walking to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He takes a long sip and swishes it around in his mouth as he steps up to the sink and spits out the pink-tinged water. “You saw me going for the mug, Porrim.”

She shrugs.

It takes a lot not to smile into the mug as you bring it back to your lips, and you don’t quite manage it.

“I see you smirking over there, Strider. Don’t think you’re off the hook just because I’m bitching at Porrim first.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault either. You shouldn’t be going around snatching other people’s mugs right out of their unsuspecting hands. Maybe that’ll teach you.”

“It won’t,” Porrim sighs, draining her mug with one last sip before washing it out. “I swear, that’s like the fifth time I’ve watched him do that. Although, usually it’s Kanaya’s mug.” She walks up beside Karkat and drops her arm across his shoulders, “Lovely to see you’re close enough to Dave to feel comfortable doing something so _intimate,”_ Karkat can’t see it because he drops his gaze to his feet as he blushes, but Porrim shoots you a wink as she glides out of the kitchen with a wave, “Show him around the place, won’t you, Karkat?”

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Karkat drags a hand down his face with a groan, “Sorry about her, she’s just- She’s Porrim.” He says that like it’ll sum up everything and still make sense. After spending a few minutes alone with her, it kind of does?

“‘S cool, man. She wasn’t bugging me or anything, she just likes to tease, right?”

He nods, then steps back to lean against the counter next to you. He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs a little, “When you’re finished with that I’ll show you around, get you settled in. Then we can start getting you up to date on the case. We’ll probably be here for like a week or two before we head back to Phoenix, and I know you didn’t really get to pack anything. Do you need anything from your apartment? Sollux is supposed to show up tomorrow to help go over the case from the Courts perspective, so I could ask him to pop into your place and grab stuff. If you’re comfortable having a faerie go through your shit, that is.”

You take the last pull of blood from your mug before responding, “I have no idea what him being faerie has to do with him going through my shit, but I would kind of like a bag of my own clothes.”

Karkat looks up you, shock and concern apparent on his face before he shakes himself loose of it, “Maybe three weeks, then, if only to teach you about proper precautions when dealing with other supernatural entities.”

“Cool,” you shrug, and then slide off the counter.

Er, well.

You _try_ to slide off the counter. 

In reality, your feet go out from underneath you as you jump down. Karkat lets out an alarmed noise and reaches out to catch you around your waist, pulling you further off balance as you stumble into his chest. His hand finds the back of your head as your weight throws him off balance, and he curls in around you as you both plummet to the floor. You have just enough time to wonder _aren’t vampires supposed to be graceful?_ Before you both hit the ground. You land with a solid _oomph,_ and Karkat gets the wind knocked out of him.

You push yourself up on your hands and knees, hovering over Karkat as he starts coughing, trying to drag in the air that had been unexpectedly set loose from his lungs. Scrambling, you adjust so he’s sitting upright. You take up position at his side, holding him up as you gently rub and pat his back in some useless facsimile of trying to help him breathe.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Karkat is breathing somewhat normally enough for him to focus on your face instead of his own lungs. His watery eyes search your face, and you can feel your own doing the same even as you wipe the tears that had gathered in his eyes free from his cheeks.

“You okay, man?”

He’s still got a grip on your shoulder, and you can feel his fingers flex as he responds, “Your shades are gone.”

You raise a hand to the side of your face, then up to your hair where you usually tuck them. He’s right. You laugh a little, “Yeah, I guess so. Fuck,” you look around a little and see them across the room, against the fridges. They must have been knocked lose in the fall.

Karkat’s hand cups your face as the other tightens against your shoulder again. His voice is raspier than usual now, “How are you such a clumsy fuck?”

You’re both laughing lightly now, “Man, I have no clue. I keep hearing all this crap about how vamps are supposed to be like, supernaturally graceful ‘n shit, and I’m telling you, I’m calling bullshit.”

Your hands are on either side of his neck, and he’s got one on your cheek and the other twisted up in the shoulder of your shirt, and you’re both laughing like there’s no time lost between the two of you. He’s smiling that smile that reaches his eyes, and yours are uncovered but it’s not bothering you for the first time in a long while. You’re not sure how long the two of you are on the floor laughing together, or why it’s so damn funny, but you know when it breaks.

Karkat starts doing this half hiccup/half laugh like he’s trying to compose himself and you’re starting to become aware of the ache in your knees as they press into the hard tile, but it still doesn’t matter because this is the first time you’ve felt actually good in a long, long time.

And then, the best thing yet happens.

Karkat looks into your eyes as he hiccups around another laugh, and mutters, “Fuck it,” before angling up and pressing his lips against yours. It’s barely a kiss, really. You’re both laughing too frequently, and smiling too widely, but it leaves you slightly breathless all the same.

Karkat’s nose slides against yours and you can feel the tears dripping down his face as he whispers, “Please.” 

The tears on your own face mean nothing as you lean in and press another kiss against his lips. You don’t trust yourself enough to speak, so you just nod.

Against your lips he speaks, “If you’re going to disappear again, please, push me away now. It would hurt less.”

Your eyes open, and through your tears and his you catch his eyes again. You pull him closer, even though you know you shouldn’t, and you kiss him again, and again. Calliope’s voice drift’s through your mind as Karkat tilts your face gently, bringing you that fraction of an inch closer. _“I don’t have any more questions for you at the moment, but I do believe there was one Mr. Vantas asked you that still awaits an answer if you’re feeling like providing clarity.”_ And a half-dreamed memory of Karkat’s voice ghosting over your skin, _“Do you still love me?”_

But now is not the time to answer that question even if you’ve always known the truth: You never stopped. You drop your weight off your knees, falling back so you’re sitting on your feet. And then Karkat slides the hand that had been on your shoulder down around your waist and _pulls,_ and you land on your ass in the empty space between his legs. His hand twists into the hair at the back of your neck, and your hands fall from his neck and your arms wrap around his shoulders. You gasp, drawing back, but he chases and there’s no force in the universe that would give you the strength to pull away from him, so you stay.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years who _knows_ how long it is because it doesn’t matter. You’d spend eternity on this floor if he asked you to. For the first time in seven years, three months, and twenty six days time means something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, if anyone caught the callback line and is trying to do the math: Chapters 1 and 2 are the same day, chapters 3 through 6 are the next day, and chapter 7 starts on the third day, then jumps a week to catch up with chapter 8, which is still the same day as chapter 9.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Work came back and I've got a bunch less time and energy now.  
> Anyway.  
> Here's that Dirk/John Prequel absolutely no one asked for: [ 1000 Lies ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105249)
> 
> Also: POV change at the page break.

Convincing yourself to pull away from Dave is difficult, and you’re reluctant, but there’s things do be done. By the time you manage it night has fallen outside the nesthouse and you can hear people moving down the hallway outside, presumably turning in for the evening. It must be getting late. It’s a fucking godsend you haven’t been walked in on. 

You still have to show Dave around a bit before turning in for the night. You have to be up early in the morning for a meeting with Rosana and Kanaya, and you still have to call Sollux before you sleep. No matter how much you just want to say fuck it, screw your job, your responsibilities... uh. You’re supposed to be trying to catch a  _ murderer.  _ That’s not really a possibility.

So, you pull back. Dave’s eyes open drowsily, and his lips are slightly parted so you can see his fangs. His face is still tilted toward you, and your heart pangs in that familiar way you’ve been missing for years. You run your thumb over the corner of his bruised mouth and sigh fondly before you slide your leg out from beneath his knees. You push yourself off the tile and offer him a hand once you straighten up.

“Karkat?” he questions from his position on the ground even as he takes your hand and pulls himself to his feet.

“I still have a few things that need to be done tonight, and I know you didn’t sleep on the drive. You’ve got to be getting tired by now,” you reach over and pick his shades up from the floor and hand them off. He hangs them from his pocket by the arm, using the hand that isn’t tangled in your own to do so.

His hand is still in yours, and you tell yourself that’s a good thing as you walk with him. You lead him out of the kitchen, back into the entryway and up the staircase. You turn left at the top, leading him down an open hallway until you reach a door with a bronze 15 tacked below the peephole.

“Odd numbered rooms are on the left side of the stairs, evens on the right. The second and third floors are residential suites, and the fourth is public spaces like the library and the lounge. The kitchen, gym, and meeting rooms are on the first floor. Outside, there’s a greenhouse and an enclosed swimming pool, both of which are open at any hour of the day,” you’re dumping a lot of information on him now, and even though it’s not end-of-the-world type stuff, you feel like you might be overloading his circuits. He nods along anyway. “There’s twenty rooms on this floor and the next. I’m there,” you point nextdoor, “in room 13. Kanaya is a floor up in 32, and Rose is in 30.”

Dave looks to the door, then back to you. Something is obviously bugging him, and with the way his week has gone you can only imagine what it is. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but you shake your head. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead, “You need to sleep, Dave.”

He squeezes your hand, before stepping into your space and resting his head on your shoulder. It’s not a hug, he never was very good at initiating those, but it is something you remember him doing in highschool. If his brother showed up while he was like this, arms limp at his sides but pressed against your chest anyway, he could say you pulled him in. It would be less trouble for him later. You bring your free hand up to the back of his neck, light pressure enough to bury his face just a little deeper into the crook of your neck. 

For a moment you consider never moving again.

Then, when you have the emotional restraint to rub more than two braincells together, you push him away slowly. He goes with the motion easily, and once all contact is lost you reach behind him and twist open the door. “I’ll come wake you in the morning. We’ll get you caught up on the case during the meeting.”

He glances at the room, looks back to you, looks back into the room. He’s not going to let go of whatever he wants to say with a kiss and a quiet dismissal. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

Dave sighs, shakes his head. It takes a bit for him to work up what he wants to say, but when he does what comes out is, “I have had one  _ very  _ strange week.”

“Week and a half,” you offer unhelpfully.

He leans back against the doorframe and laughs, it’s the cynical, bitter sort of laughter he’d use when he was upset or hurt, usually with himself. 

Taking Dave by the shoulder, you push the door further open and guide him into the room. It’s furnished the same way all empty rooms in the nesthouse are, dark wooden bedframe and dresser across from the foot of it. A night stand with a lamp on either side of the bed. A desk against the wall across from the closet door. The curtains are drawn closed and match the bedspread, just a few shades darker than the painted walls, this time in a hunter green palette. 

Dave sits on the edge of the bed. You drop your ass to the floor in front of him and wait.

Dave continues to fidget where he sits. He slips his shades loose from his pocket, folds and unfolds the arms in a quiet  _ 1-2 clack.  _ Enough time passes that you aren’t sure he’s going to talk at all, that maybe he’s regretting letting you lead him into the room.

“This is fucking wild, man,” he mumbles, falling back on the bed. His hands keep their grip on his shades and the clacking noise continues.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

He sighs, nodding, “I don’t know.”

Frowning, you try to find the words. Does he need comfort? Reassurance? Both? Something else? You don’t have the time to figure it out, because Dave starts to ramble.

“I don’t know. Man, I’ve spent the last seven years moving around Arizona genuinely avoiding any conceivable possibility of running into someone I know. Like, I full on fucking Gone Girl’d you and everyone else. And for the longest fucking time I convinced myself it was because I didn’t want to hurt anyone, that I was more dangerous than Ted Bundy, and you show up and Kanaya shows up and you bring me to this fucking place which basically proves I’m essentially the Hamburglar. No, fuck, I’m  _ less  _ dangerous than the Hamburglar. I’m fucking Grimace. I’m a big purple blob that walks around starting every sentence ‘Duh…’ And I feel like a total dick about everything. Facing you and Rose and Kanaya is super weird and super uncomfortable and I’m walking around like half convinced that you guys hate me. I mean, how can you not hate me? I fucked up, like sincerely fuck-”

If he keeps rambling he’s going to start talking in half-obscured historical analogies, and you really don’t have the patience to separate his thoughts and emotions from like, McCarthyism. Time to cut him off. You reach up and grab him by the leg, pulling until he falls off the bed. Kind of rude, but really, there’s no way in hell Dave’s going to stop rambling with the kind of speed he’d built up. He falls to the floor with a shrill shriek and a solid  _ thunk. _

“Dude,” he whines.

“Dave, shut up. No one hates you. I thought I made it pretty clear that, at the very least,  _ I  _ don’t hate you.”

“No, yeah, okay. You did,” Dave laughs a little, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position on the floor. “I just. Mild freak out. I’m good.”

“Are you lying?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

“Are you going to be okay staying here alone tonight? I could go get the files I need, work on them here instead of the library?”

Dave shakes his head, “No, I’m good. I need to sleep, and you need to focus on work.”

So, you stand up. You reach down, pull Dave onto his feet. “Bathroom is through that door,” you point, “We share it, so if the door is locked don’t break it down.” And with that, you leave Dave and head to the library to go over the case files.

* * *

You don't sleep that night. You stay awake, glaring at the ceiling in the dark. It's a nice ceiling. Wood paneling. Oak? Could be oak. Could be mahogany. Who cares, it's wood. You're pretty sure they're oak 2x4s. You  _ know  _ there's 84 of them. You've counted three times, trying to distract yourself from the third door in your room. In the room Karkat led you to after he managed to scrape you off the kitchen floor like undercooked scrambled eggs. 

Three doors.

One is the entrance. One is the closet.

The third? It opens into a suite-share bathroom. Now, that, in and of itself is not an issue.

The issue is that you, residing in suite 15 on the second floor of the nesthouse, are sharing a bathroom with the resident of suite 13. Who you have not heard return from the library.

Okay, the short of it? You're sharing a bathroom with Karkat for the first time in 7 ¼ years. Karkat, whom you used to date. Karkat, who you were - _ are-  _ were deeply and wholeheartedly in love with. Karkat, with whom you just shared a touching, if cliche, reunion that probably involved more tongue than you'd be willing to admit in polite company, followed shortly by a heartfelt ramble where you told him exactly how stressed and guilty you’re feeling. Karkat, who left for the library three hours ago  _ and still has not returned to his room. _

Okay, so maybe that was the long of it. Fuck it. Counting wood panels rots your brain.

Do you go look for him? But you have no clue which room the library is. Would that be clingy? And what if he comes back while you're wandering around looking for him? You promised you wouldn't disappear again. Would that count as disappearing? You wouldn't  _ leave  _ the nest house, but the idea of him coming back and you not being here makes you think of the  _ last  _ time you were supposed to be home when he came back. You…

Don't actually know how he reacted to that? he hasn't brought it up, and you don't really want to ask. So now you're laying here, twiddling your thumbs like some forgotten housewife waiting for her husband to return home from the war. Not all  _ We Can Do It!  _ Rosie the Riveter style, more  _ Often a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride  _ Listerine advertisement. So not sexy.

But past  _ all  _ of that, if and when Karkat  _ does  _ return to his room, then what? It's not like you're expecting him to come over at fucking 3AM. And it's not like you're going to sneak over there and drape yourself over his bed, set up gossamer curtains and mood lighting like some Victorian Vampire novel reject. So why the hell are you waiting for him to come back?

Why aren't you sleeping?

Because you're overthinking. You're overthinking like you did the first time you kissed Karkat, like the first night after he saw Bro beat you, like the first night after moving in with him. You're overthinking like you would on when he would have to come home late and forget to leave you a message. You're overthinking and it's winding you up and keeping you awake, and you're not going to be able to stop until you hear his footsteps on the stairs and his door locking shut behind him in the next room over.

There are 84 wood panels on the ceiling of room 15 in nesthouse 124 as subsidized by APRIL. There is 1 hyperaware, overthinking vampire on the bed of room 15 in nesthouse 124 as subsidized by APRIL. There are 0 kind-eyed, gruff, cranky vampire hunters on the bed of room 13 in nesthouse 124 as subsidized by APRIL.

Where in the world is Karkat Vantas?

He's in the library, you tell yourself. Go to sleep, Dave.

You don’t sleep.

Karkat pulls you out of your room at 8AM for breakfast, and the meeting starts at 8:30.

You remember the meeting again with a grimace and pour yourself a third cup of coffee, grateful to at least be wearing your own clothes even if Sollux did appear out of nowhere and throw an old backpack directly at your face before fucking off into the Ether again.


	11. Chapter 11

The meeting sucks. Is sucking. Actively makes you want to scream and tear your hair out, really. There’s a bunch of people here, a few you know, a few you’ve met, and some total strangers that are mostly actively ignoring you  _ except,  _ of course, for the one girl who’s staring at you like you’re dinner.

Thankfully Rosana, Kanaya and Karkat took the initiative and are surrounding you. Rosana to your left, Kanaya to your right and Karkat is standing behind your chair blocking you in with the excuse of reaching over you every few minutes to point out something in the files. At the same time, however, fuck them all because you can’t leave if they’ve got you surrounded on all sides. And,  _ sure,  _ you could slither your way under the table and crawl out of the room on your hands and knees but with your luck you’ll pop up next to the blind lady and freak her the hell out, so that plan is a no-go.

“You’ll notice that the main connection between the three murders was the discovery of Jimsonweed flowers at all crime scenes, subsequently theorized by the lack of identification on all three victims. Now, prior to speaking with the sister, we were working under the assumption that the forth case, Caliborn Coolidge, was unrelated. She claims that the murders were committed by the same person, and as such we’ll maintain two separate theories: All four were killed by the same person, or we have one serial killer and one unrelated homicide,” The woman at the head of the table keeps rambling off information that you’ve been going over for the past two hours, holy fuck, and you’re kind of getting tired of it.

“Aranea,” Rosana sighs beside you, addressing the rambling woman, “This is information we already know. We all read the files before attending the meeting.”

You totally didn’t read the files. In your defense, you didn’t know you were supposed to. And if that isn’t enough, see exhibit B: Karkat’s tounge down your throat until about 3AM.

“Will you please just get to the point? Involving the Courts is a courtesy we need not extend when we’re certain the killer is a vampire.”

Aranea straightens her shoulders and inhales slowly, “How can you be certain the killer is a vampire when Jimsonweed is present at the crime scenes?”

“The coroner listed the cause of death as exsanguination, there is no blood left in the corpses, and there are fang marks on the first three victim’s throats. How would you interpret those findings?” Rosana is standing from her seat now, the chair pushed back harshly against the wooden floorboards. She’s tired, you can see it in how her hair is slightly disheveled and there are bags under her eyes. “Can we please focus on attempting to identify these victims, try to find a connection between them?”

Before the meeting, Rosana had left the room to gather tea for everyone and Kanaya had informed you that she had been in the meeting room all night, trying to piece together all the information alongside Terezi. Terezi, the blind woman, is now standing in the corner of the room, whispering lowly to Vriska as Aranea spouts the same nonsense information over and over again.

“I would take it to mean  _ another  _ vampire had gone mad and started killing indiscriminately if not for the presence of the Jimsonweed. And I hardly think the identities of the victims matter when it’s possible you’re eliminating the killer from your suspect pool!”

Rosana put a hand to her head, rubbing the space between her eyes as though trying to calm a migraine, “You Serkets-” she starts, but Terezi steps forward and whips her cane down onto the table with a harsh  _ thwack. _

“Rosana, I suggest you take five. Before you say something and come to find yourself in the depths of a faerie prison even  _ I  _ can’t get you out of.”

You can see Rosana roll her eyes, but she kicks the chair behind her out of her way and quickly leaves the room, muttering to herself about “Argumentative faeries” which you’re half sure no one without vampiric hearing would catch. Karkat doesn’t seem to, so you take that as a win.

Sollux snickers from his seat across the table, so maybe Rosana isn’t really out of the woods on that one. 

Karkat slips into the seat Rosana had vacated, working his lip between his teeth before speaking, “Since it seems like no one else is going to, I’ll bite,” here there’s a chorus of half-hearted laughter from a few people in the room, yourself and Kanaya included, “Aranea, what is so important about Jimsonweed that it would make you consider the possibility that our killer is anything other than a vampire?”

Aranea smiles, seemingly delighted to finally have been asked the right question. “Jimsonweed,” she starts, “Also known as Devil’s Snare or Thorn Apple; Scientifically  _ Datura Stramonium-”  _ Several people in the audience groan, but Aranea doesn’t stop. If anything, she seems to take it as encouragement to continue. “-is a toxic member of the nightshade family. As such, it has a connection to the shifter community. All nightshade plants are toxic, of course, but when introduced to the internal system of a shifter, your werewolves or just a common shifter, It’s as poisonous as silver. However, the  _ Devil’s Snare  _ epithet also gives it a connection to the Fae community. As you’re all well aware, so-called demons and devils are naught but Fae appearing to humans in need of a bargain. The plant is also a hallucinogen in humans, and in the language of flowers it can mean deceit or disguise. So, of course the murders  _ look  _ like a vampire- we need to think broader than that. Widen our suspect pool.”

A snort comes from the girl behind you, the one staring at you like you’re her next meal.

“I’m sorry, Damara. Is that funny to you? Someone is hurting innocents- killing humans, and you’d laugh?” Aranea asks.

“All life ends. Human, vampire, faerie, shifter… all the same.”

Aranea sighs in frustration, dragging pinched fingers down her nose, “I don’t suppose you could send Aradia to the next meeting, could you?”

“The secrets of the dead are not to be shared,” Damara responds with a rude hand gesture before slumping back against the bookshelves and turning her attention to the doorway, apparently waiting for anyone else to enter. You look to Karkat for an explanation, but he just shakes his head in that  _ I’ll tell you later  _ way. This is why you hate meetings with new people. You don’t know if this is normal, or if someone is about to snap and you should move out of the way.

“You could always just tell us who the killer is, Damara,” That’s Sollux, smirking at you from across the table. You turn in your seat, trying to catch view of Damara as she stands behind you.

“Wait, you know?” You ask, and Karkat hits your shoulder.

Damara looks you up and down, letting her eyes trail slowly across your face. It makes you a little nervous, but you think that’s the point. She licks her lips slowly, and then winks instead of answering before her attention drifts back to the doorway.

Karkat reaches over your shoulder and turns you back to face the table. Sollux’s shoulders are shaking as he laughs silently to himself. “Maybe don’t pick on the new guy, Sol,” Karkat defends, “You know it took you forever to get a hang of the Psychopomp-secrecy thing too.”

“Didn’t take him very long to get hold of the Psychopomp, though” Damara chirps from behind you… way too close behind you. Her arms come down around your shoulders and she leans in close to your ear, “He says dirty things to Aradia. Would you like to hear?”

Sollux is grinning like a madman as he crosses his arms and says, “What happened to keeping secrets, Damara?”

“You aren’t dead.”

You’re practically jumping out of your seat when Terezi slams her cane down on the table again, “Off topic!” she cackles, too amused with this turn of events to be serious, “Damara, Sollux, lay off the newbie. Aranea?” 

Sollux looks half-chastized, but Damara is still trying to slip her way between Karkat’s seat and your own. Karkat drops a hand onto your knee beneath the table and fixes Damara with a glare. She can see it from where she’s standing but you’re pretty sure no one else can. You’re vibrating in your skin by the time she backs off, sulking back to her place against the bookshelves.

“No, I’m done. That’s what I’ve got. Jimsonweed. It’s a plant connected to several different species of Paranormals and means disguise,” Aranea huffs.

“Could have just said that,” Sollux gripes, arms crossed as he slouches into his seat.

“I  _ did  _ say that, it’s not my fault you Captors have the attention span of a rabbit in heat.”

Sollux lurches forward and Aranea sits up straighter, bracing for whatever is about to happen. You can see Vriska in the corner rolling her eyes as Terezi’s cane whaps down on the table for a third time, “Ah!” she barks, “No fighting, I’ll kick both of your asses and you know it.” Sollux slowly lowers himself back into his seat, and Aranea relaxes into hers.

“ _ This  _ is why Mom made me the Court Liaison and not you, Aranea,” Vriska calls from her spot in the corner, “At least I can get along.”

Aranea crosses her arms, “Mom assigned you to be Liaison because you let that  _ human  _ into the court with a Wild Faerie.”

“That may have been true at first,” Vriska smirks, “But she let me keep the job because I’m better at it than you could ever be.”

Aranea leaves the room with a sharp glare directed at Vriska, but she says nothing else.

Terezi looks unamused as the door slams behind the faerie woman, but she sighs and slips into the newly vacant seat, relaxing for the first time since the meeting began, “You could at least  _ try  _ not to antagonize her, Vriska.”

“If you knew half as much about Aranea as I do, you’d antagonize her too,” Vriska responds before she walks out of the room, pointedly going the opposite direction Aranea had used.

“That went well,” Sollux remarks.

“Still better than the International summit of 2016,” Damara chimes in.

He chuckles darkly, “It took Aranea  _ weeks  _ to heal those burns.”

“And Vriska nearly lost her arm. She probably would have if- oh, what’s his name? The Dullahan boy- didn’t stop the bleeding,” Kanaya offers jovially.

“It was a bad situation, we shouldn’t be laughing about it,” Terezi says, trying to maintain her composure. She’s not doing a great job of it, really.

“But what else is there to do but laugh? She was bleeding so badly, but when we spooked the boy his head fell right off!” Kanaya is outright laughing now, and with the exception of Terezi, the rest of the room follows suit.

Terezi is quiet for a moment, whether she’s trying to stop herself from laughing or just genuinely doesn’t find this funny you don’t know. That is, until she makes a sudden realization,“Oh, shit. Is that what I kicked down the hall?” And then she’s cackling right along with the rest of the room.

You feel like an outsider looking in. Not for the first time since you’ve been back, of course, but you have to wonder if you even fit in here. Most of these people are unknown to you, and if not for the case you doubt you’d have ever met them. But, it’s still a comfortable atmosphere. It feels like friends teasing each other, which is a kind of warmth you’ve missed. You smile along with their laughter and squeeze Karkat’s hand where it rests on your knee. 


	12. Chapter 12

When you and Dave had been in highschool, after you had found out about his brother, you had started planning. At first, you had done so without Dave’s knowledge or permission but as Derrick’s abuse worsened you had finally explained what you were thinking. He had only one condition.

“If you ever have to, park a block away.”

It was nearly 1AM, the calendar had ticked over to December 3rd. You had sent Dave a quick “Happy Birthday <3.” message just after midnight and gotten about fifteen minutes of chatter before he sent an out of place “g2g”. You had been concerned, but not to the point of getting up and driving over to the apartment to look for shadows on the roof. Sometimes Dave would send a message like that if he got hit with a sudden bolt of inspiration for a new track, or comic, or whatever. You’d get an explanation in the morning, like always.

Except, at 12:57AM you received a series of messages from Dave.

TG: we should go to the zoo for our next date

TG: go see the elephants n shit

TG: wonder if wed get to hear em trumpet

TG: thatd be pretty dope right

It wasn’t unusual for you to receive this type of message, a date idea at fuck o’clock in the morning. But that was the point of it. When Derrick would go through Dave’s messages at the end of the week he wouldn’t see anything strange about it.

But you knew what it meant.

“Elephant,” was the word you and Dave had decided on. The one that meant Dave was done, he’d have his go-bag and meet you a block away in fifteen minutes.

You quietly jumped out of bed, pulled on your sweater and shoes and snuck downstairs. You pulled your car keys from the bowl by the front door and closed it as quietly as possible, not bothering to flip the lock because you knew Kankri was too light a sleeper to not hear it. He was probably already awake, but maybe if you didn’t flip the lock he’d think you just went out for a breath of air.

When you climbed into the car, you shot Dave a quick response:

CG: ELEPHANTS COULD BE COOL.

CG: GET SOME SLEEP, DAVE.

CG: <3

He knew you didn’t forget the code. You only reminded him about it like every week, at school where Derrick would never hear it. 

When you pulled up to the corner where Dave was supposed to be waiting and didn’t see him, your heart plummeted. You worried that Derrick had caught on, that he was playing you. Or maybe Dave was so bad off he never made it the full block. But just as your brain was about to get completely away from you, Dave slipped out of the shadowed alley you had specifically told him _not_ to hide in because it was dark and who knew who could be down there?

He yanked open the door and flopped into the passenger seat, throwing two identical backpacks onto the floor before him. One obviously had his school shit in it, and the other was his travel bag. Everything he would need, carefully hidden from Derrick and moved on a regular non-regular schedule, thank you Doomsday Preppers. His head hit the headrest with a groan, and his hand was clenched against his left side.

“Dave?” you asked, “Hospital or my house?”

He was quiet long enough that you almost asked again, but he whispered, “House, ‘kat. Just… drive.”

He was silent for the entirety of the short ten minute drive. When you pulled up to the house, you could see that the lights in the living room had been turned on. _Fucking Kankri._

Dave’s eyes, still covered by his shades, were fixed on your house. He had always known this was a possibility, your brother ratting on you and waking your father as soon as he could. He knew he was going to have to go in there and explain what had been happening, if not to everyone then at least to your Dad.

“Are you going to be okay, Dave?”

“Huh?” he turns back to you, “Oh, yeah. I just- just realizing how fucked I am, I guess.” The laugh he lets out is bitter, and you turn the light in the car on to get a better look at him.

There’s bruises coming up on both sides of his face, you can see them beneath the shades. His lip is split and his nose is bleeding and a little swollen, but it’s straight so if Derrick broke it Dave set it. His shirt is torn in a few places and cut open in others, the difference being the cut places have blood beneath them. And where Dave is holding his side you can see blood on his fingers. You move Dave’s hand aside and lift his shirt to see how bad the wound is.

“Jesus, buy a guy dinner first,” he quips and you elect to ignore it because you know humor is how he copes. Besides that, you have bought him dinner. Several times, and you plan to do it again so his argument is invalid.

You can’t tell how deep the wound is, but that’s mostly because it’s already been stitched closed. You hate that you can tell it’s Dave’s own work. “You should let me take you to the hospital,” you say, even though you know he’s going to say no.

“Nah, I’m good. They ask questions at hospitals, and besides that, I stitched it right. It’s clean.”

You drop Dave’s shirt and look him in the eye, “You’re going inside and taking a shower, with antibacterial soap. And then I’m dumping a liter of rubbing alcohol on it.” He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. He reaches down to get his bags but you make a disapproving sound and hop out of the car, crossing to his side and helping him out before reaching in and getting the bags. “If you pull the stitches I _will_ take you to a hospital and you can’t argue.”

You’re expecting a smirk and a sarcastic, “Yes, mother,” or something, but all you get is a tired smile and a nod. That worries you more than anything else that’s happened tonight. “Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to wait until you’re inside? Because the light is on, which means Kankri snitched me out, and as soon as Dad sees you a bloody mess he’s going to want answers.”

The smile on Dave’s lips twitches twice before it falls, “Derrick made me go up to the roof. When I got there he said he was done holding back, that I’m an adult now. _Jesus,_ ‘Kat. I don’t know how he moved that fast. I mean, _fuck,_ I knew he was quick, but shit. And then he went for it, I don’t know. I guess he was expecting me to pull out some move he hadn’t seen, all student-becomes-master style, but I didn’t have anything like that up my sleeve. He kicked my ass pretty good, and then he kept at it even when I was down. I called yield and-” Here Dave pauses, and you can see his throat working for the next words. They come out a shaky whisper instead of the steady level-volume he’d been using, “and he didn’t stop. Said real men keep fighting.”

It isn’t the fact that Dave’s brother tried to kill him that shocked you. It’s not the fear in Dave’s voice, or the tears you can hear on his tongue that make you want to turn your car around and light the apartment on fire. It’s the fact that Dave called his brother _Derrick._ That moment is the first time you can honestly remember wanting someone dead.

You lead Dave into the house, and he’s leaning his weight against you even as you carry his bags. He’s tired, and sore, and you want to get him showered and asleep. But first-

“Karkat Vantas, are you aware of what time it is?” Your father asks without looking back to the door when you walk in. He’s sitting on the couch, hair mussed and in his pajamas, starring at the television which is tuned into a late night marathon of Golden Girls. The laugh track makes for a poor companion to how you’re feeling. 

“Dad,” you start, tired and not looking for an argument. It must be the tone, or something in your voice because Keaton Vantas turns his head away from the television to see what’s wrong. His eyes go wide and you can feel the change in the room as his Dad Mode™ activates. 

He rounds the couch and pulls Dave away from you and into the kitchen. “Dave? Can you hear me? What day is it?”

Dave shakes his head tiredly, trying to push him away “I’m fine, Mr. V. It’s December 3rd, barely.”

You drop Dave’s bags onto the newly vacated couch just as Kankri comes down the stairs, looking smug. “Has Dad chewed you out yet?”

You glare at Kankri for a second, ready to snap at him but Dave lets out a pained yelp and you dart into the kitchen without responding. Any sort of argument or verbal smackdown Kankri deserves, now is not the time. 

When you get into the kitchen your father has cut Dave’s shirt off and is tending to the immaculate stitching on Dave’s side with Iodine. Dave is sitting up on the kitchen island, leaning back to give your father more room, but in doing so he’s left bloody smudges on the white counter. You come up to Dave’s side, and take his hand in yours. He drops his weight onto his elbows so he can hold your hand. He’s lost his shades, probably at your father’s insistence. You can see them next to the coffee pot. Dave weaves his fingers between yours and hisses in a breath as your dad dabs at another wound with the Iodine. He flashes you a weak smile and butts his head against yours, “What the fuck is that stuff? It burns like hell.”

Dave knows what it is, of course. You’re pretty sure he’s just trying to lighten the mood. You bury your face into his shoulder, sighing instead of answering. You stay like that for a few moments, trying to calm your nerves, trying to figure out how to explain what’s been happening to your father. You’re saved from thinking when Kankri clears his throat.

He’s standing in the doorway, awkwardly. His arms are crossed and his expression is too carefully applied. You can see the hesitation in his eyes. He never did like blood.

“What is going on?”

You share a look with Dave, but he sighs and nods. Time to let the cat out of the bag. Keaton looks up from the lesser wound on Dave’s bicep, obviously listening but still focused on his task. Dave looks too tired to speak, you can see the bags forming under his eyes beneath the bruises. So it’s up to you, then. “Dave’s brother tried to kill him tonight.”

Dave’s eyes widen, flicking across your face but he doesn’t contradict you. 

Your father looks up and catches Dave’s expression. “Kankri,” he mutters, “Call Rosana. Tell her she needs to come over, that we’re all okay but it is an emergency. Then go back to bed.”

“But, Dad-” Kankri starts, obviously upset at being excluded.

“Kankri, please. The more people involved the more stress Dave will be under. I need to speak with Karkat about what’s happened, and I need someone to watch Dave while I do so.”

Kankri shifts and stares at his feet, “I could watch Dave,” he offers meekly. It’s not behavior you’ve seen Kankri exhibit in a long time, not since before he decided it was more fun to get you in trouble than to get in trouble with you.

Your father smiles, “I appreciate that, but I’d much rather one of you boys get a decent night’s sleep. And since that obviously won’t be Dave or Karkat, it has to be you. Go on, call Mother and get to bed.”

It takes Rosana Maryam thirty minutes to get across town and let herself into her son’s home with her spare key. By that time, Dave has showered and dressed in his own sweatpants and your oversized black hoodie. He’s resting on the couch, feet propped up in your lap as he watches Golden Girls expressionlessly. You know he’s not really paying attention to it, because his eyes are glazed over and he’s fiddling with the hem of the hoodie’s pocket. His shades are still in the kitchen, but he hasn’t asked for them back yet so he’s either too out of it to care or- who the fuck are you kidding. He’s out of it.

Your father is still in the kitchen cleaning up the spilled iodine and blood, throwing away gauze and band-aid wrappers. When you asked if he wanted help he smiled sadly and told you to go stay with Dave until Rosana arrived.

When Rosana enters the room, you look up over the back of the couch and smile as she sets her things down. “Hi, Aunt Rosa.”

“Hello, Karkat,” she responds, leaning down over the back of the couch to press a rather unwanted kiss to your head. “Who is this?”

That seems to snap Dave out of his staring contest with Bea Arthur, “Oh, uh. Hey. I’m Dave.”

She nods once, “You look a little worse for wear, Dave.”

He smiles and winces as his nose moves, and your heart aches, “I can handle a few bumps and bruises, Ma’am.”

Rosana smiles again, ruffles your hair and walks into the kitchen as she says, “I’m going to speak with your father.”

“So… Aunt?”

You shrug. It’s just what you’ve always called her, so there really is no reason to change it up. Plus she’d probably skin you if you started calling her grandma. Dave doesn’t question it beyond that, so you figure he’s done with it. He’s quiet for again, but he’s moved on from worrying the hem of your hoodie to running his thumb across the palm of your hand. You didn’t even notice him grab you, the sneaky fuck.

You sit like that, quietly trying to trap his thumb like it’s a little game. At least, until your father and Rosana come into the room. “Karkat,” your father starts, “I know you said that Dave’s brother tried to kill him. I’d like for you to explain to me what’s been happening.”

You look up at him, trying to piece out if you could put this off until Dave has gotten some rest. It doesn’t seem like that’s an option, so you turn to Dave, ready to ask if he’s okay with everything coming to light. He answers before you can ask.

“Go ahead, dude. Cat is so far out of the bag I think that mangy feline ate the plastic. The bag is in the cat now, Karkat. That’s how out of the bag the cat is,” he flashes you a tired smile and waves you off. 

As soon as you’re standing, Rosana is taking your seat. She pulls Dave’s legs into her lap and you’re fully expecting him to freak out but either he’s too tired or she’s too slick because the next peep you hear from either of them is Rosana asking, “So, who’s your favorite Golden Girl? I’m partial to Blanche myself.”

“I don’t know, they all have their charms, but Sofia is kind of a badass,” Dave responds and you’re suddenly thankful your father is dragging you into his office and shutting the door because _everyone knows_ Rose is the best Golden Girl and you can’t believe your boyfriend and Rosana-

“So, what’s been happening with Dave?”

Right. Fuck. Actual difficult conversation containing information you’ve been hiding from your father.

You spend the next hour explaining everything you know about the situation, all the while your father sits eerily still and grinds his teeth. Finally, when you’ve finished speaking, he asks, “Why hasn’t Dave gotten the police involved? Gotten me involved?” and it’s a question that feels like a gut punch because it’s the same one you’ve asked yourself over and over again. Then, he shakes his head and sighs sadly, “No, don’t answer that. I understand,” The tension falls from your father’s shoulders, “You’ve grown up much faster than I ever wanted you to.”

You nod, for lack of a better response, and he stands from his seat and walks over to the junk drawer. You watch as he pulls it open and lifts a false bottom you had no idea was there, and he hands you a few hundred dollar bills before closing the drawer. “Tomorrow you’re going to go to the store and you’re going to use this money to buy Dave anything he needs. Clothes, towels, toiletries, a new phone. Whatever he needs, I don’t care. He’s not going back to that apartment, Karkat, and I know you’re going to have to be the one to convince him of that.”

And he walks out of the room. He goes out to the living room and joins Dave and your grandmother on the couch. You watch from the doorway as he settles next to Rosana, dropping his head onto her shoulder with an inaudible sigh. She turns her face slightly and presses a kiss to his temple but her attention does not shift away from her conversation with Dave. He sounds sleepy, his words are slurring together and you know it’s just a mix of adrenaline and his nervousness around authority figures that’s keeping him awake. You pocket the cash and join everyone on the couch, pointedly lifting Dave’s head and shoulders into your lap. The four of you fall asleep like that.

* * *

It’s the sight of your father in the hallway of the nesthouse that triggers this memory, along with the sudden realization that you have forgotten to notify him that Dave isn’t dead. You had been stepping out to get bottles of water for yourself, Dave, Rose and Kanaya. The four of you had gotten together after the meeting to discuss investigation plans and possible theories, but it seems that now is not the proper time to speak of such things. You close the door to the library quickly, and try to think. Dave notices your eyes darting around the room and he tenses.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing! I um. Dad’s in the hall.”

Dave rises from his seat with a childish grin, “Dad’s here? Like, _here_ here?” You nod and Dave walks toward you, “I have to say- fuck, I have to say a lot, huh?” He’s trying to get out of the room now, but you’re keeping your back firmly against the door. “Dude, what’s up?”

Okay, Karkat. Don’t panic. This is just a mistake, Dave’ll find it hilarious and he’ll totally go along with your plan to tell your father that he’s only been back like, a day. He absolutely will do that for you. “I may have completely forgot to tell him you were… uh. Alive?”

Kanaya blinks, then whispers something to Rose. Rose grimaces, then her face drains of color as though making a realization herself. She lightly lowers her head to the table with a groan.

Dave stops trying to get you away from the door, and a slow smirk spreads across his face, “Wait a minute. You, Karkat ‘I-swore-never-to-hide-shit-from-my-father-again’ Vantas, forgot to tell him I’m not dead? That I’ve been back for _eleven_ days?”

“Uh, yeah? It’s been chao-” 

You don’t get to finish that sentence before Dave is cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, “Dad! Mr. V! Dad! Dad!”

You have just enough time to stomp on Dave’s foot before your father is throwing his weight against the library door and you’re tumbling to the ground as it smacks you in the back. From your newfound position on the floor you can see your father’s dumbstruck expression, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Then, all at once like someone hit his reset button, he breaks into a sedate smile and pulls Dave into a big fatherly hug. You can hear the tears in his voice, but you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. And then Dave is nodding along and backing away, a hand still on your father’s arm. He opens his mouth and points to his fangs, and then your father is pulling him into another hug. You get to your feet and move to step around them awkwardly, but Keaton grabs you by the back of your collar and drags you into the bearhug. You can just hear him mutter, “I should have been like, the third person you called, Karkat.”

You grunt into his shoulder, and then he’s letting you both go.

“My god,” he laughs, “Dave.” He does that head tilt and happy little sigh sound, and then he’s looking Dave over as if to see him anew. “What did Dirk say when you reunited?”

The question is punctuated by Rose thumping her head against the table with a dramatic groan.

Glad to know you aren’t the only fuckup in the room, you guess.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can contact me @MistLaFey [ on Tumblr ](https://mistlafey.tumblr.com/) or [ on Twitter ](https://twitter.com/MistLaFey) if you don't want to comment, but would like to scream about this or any other works of mine, or if you want to talk to me for some other reason. I'm more often on Tumblr than Twitter but I'll respond to pretty much any message thrown at me on either.

You have officially decided that while “You should know Dave is dead,” phonecalls absolutely suck for everyone involved “Hey, you should know Dave, whom we were all sure was dead uh… isn’t?” phonecalls are much, much worse. And they involve a lot of confusion and screaming. In one case, just straight silence that lead into a dial tone. No clue what happened there, can’t wait to find out.

Who are you kidding, Dirk will probably get his ass on a plane in under an hour and it’ll only take that long because he has to go find John and yank him out of class.

“Yo! Roxy’s phone. I’m not here right now but if you leave a message after the beep I’ll totes get back to you ASAP. K, bye!” the phone says again, and so you leave another message.

“Hey, Roxy. I know it’s been a long time and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve lost my number, but it’s Karkat… Uh, Vantas? Anyway, I have some kind of big news, so if you can call me back? It’s not something I want you to hear in a voicemail. So, yeah. Reach me at-”

Another burst of laughter comes from the sitting room your father and Dave have commandeered. They share a couch with space for you in the middle, and Rose and Kanaya are across the coffee table. So many days, and this is exactly what you wished for. You shove your phone back into your pocket and start to make your way back across the hall when the front door of the nesthouse slams open. Kanaya and your father both take position in the doorway of the sitting room, and you reach for a gun that isn’t on your hip.

Dirk Strider stands in the doorway, and leaning heavily into his side with an arm across his shoulders is a very tired looking John Egbert.

“Dirk, what the hell?” you ask, stepping towards the two of them and getting under John’s other arm. “Don’t tell me you made John take you down a fucking Faerie road.”

John rolls his head loosely on his neck so he can face you, “He wanted to take the jet. This was faster.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Of course John would do something as risky as taking a human through the in-between, even if that human is Dirk that’s way too freaking dangerous.  _ Especially  _ if it’s Dirk, actually. Dude pisses off the folk faster than anyone else you know. “Fucking hell, John. Let’s get you off your feet.”

“Oh, am I still standing? That’s a relief.”

Moving in tandem with Dirk, you shuffle John into the sitting room. Dave shoots to his feet as you come in, so you opt to drop John face-first onto the couch. When you’ve gotten him settled so he’s not pressing his glasses into a breakable position you turn your attention back to the others in the room. Rose has sunk lower into the couch than you’ve ever seen her, but no one seems to notice so her ploy must be working. Dirk’s attention is fully focused on Dave, and Dave’s taken his shades off in response like he can’t believe it’s not a trick and had to clear his head.

“Dave,” Dirk starts, breathless but with an undercurrent of relief you’re sure even you didn’t have, “I  _ knew  _ you weren’t dead. I fucking told- where- Rose. What the fuck, Rose?” And suddenly he whirls on her. 

She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders before standing. She puts her hand on her hip, “Don’t you start, Dirk-”

“Don’t  _ I  _ start? Fuck you. I was right, you were wrong, eat crow.”

“I merely said that he had been  _ declared-” _

“You said, and I quote, ‘All we have is a pool of blood and Derrick’s rotting corpse, Dave didn’t make it out of this.’”

“I absolutely  _ did not-” _

“You absolutely fucking did,  _ and  _ you nearly threw me out of the memorial-”

“Guys, guys, come on-” Dave jumps in between them with his hands up, but he apparently has no plan beyond that because he stalls, “Uhh…” He blinks, focuses in on Dirk, “Hey, what the fuck is up with your throat?”

Dirk’s hand shoots up to his neck at the same time John’s head pops up from the couch cushion, “He pissed off a faerie!”

You don’t bother suppressing the urge to shove John’s face back into the pillow, “Hush, John.” He makes a mildly distressed noise but he doesn’t try to lift his face back up. You perch on the armrest of the couch to ensure continued compliance.

“You… You pissed off a faerie? How is that an explanation? You look like Sweeney Todd took a Barbie Barber’s knife and went all out on your throat inch by inch.”

Dirk sighs, looks around the room and shrugs. “It’s fine. It won’t- I mean, I don’t think it’ll happen again. John, thoughts?”

“There might be some residuals, but the binding is broken so that shouldn’t last long,” he mumbles, voice still muffled by the couch.

“Yeah, I still don’t get it,” Dave shrugs.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to. They’re just scars, now. What matters is that you’re alive. When the fuck did that happen, by the way?”

“I found him twelve days ago,” you supply, and Dirk turns to face you. His shoulders are tense, and his mouth is set in a hard line.

“Twelve days?” he asks, but it's rhetorical. He nods, glares at the floor and raises his gaze back to yours. “You know what I’m going to say?”

“I should have told you right away, why did I wait this long, you’d like to punch me… am I missing anything?” Your arms are crossed across your chest, your legs are crossed at the ankles, the picture of false relaxation. Dave goes tense again, and you can see him trying to piece out if he should be standing between Dirk and Rose or you and Dirk.

“Yeah, you’re a dick.”

You nod, then break into a smile, “It’s good to see you, Dirk.”

Dirk grins and finally takes his shades off, hanging them from the collar of his shirt. Dave looks confused, but slightly less like he thinks he’s going to have to break up a three way battle in which you and Rose still refuse to team up against Dirk because God help you both if you ever agreed on anything. The last of the tension leaves his shoulders when Dirk pulls him into a bruising hug.

“So,” Dirk starts when he pulls away and moves John’s legs into his lap so he can take a seat on the couch. “You’re not dead. What the fuck’s up with that?”

Dave takes a seat on the opposite couch, now sitting between Rose and your father, and launches into his whole, “Well, technically-” yadda, yadda vampire speech. It’s like the tenth time you’ve heard it today, so you mostly tune it out and just focus on his face. 

He’s changed, you know, in the years since he died. A lot of the scars you remember him having are gone, the shallow ones mostly. But they’ve been replaced by just as many new ones. A cut that dips into his eyebrow you’re not sure you remember, a slash on his nose that’s missing. Your father’s hand comes down on your shoulder and snaps you out of your musing.

“What do you think, Karkat?”

You shake your head, “Sorry, what? Zoned out.”

Dirk is the one who answers, “John was just saying we should go out and celebrate, while we’re all together again. We have finals coming up, and while I happen to think ‘long lost cousin coming back from the assumed dead,’ is a valid reason to skip, I doubt our professors will agree.”

“Oh,” you nod, “I mean, yeah. Sure. I can get some music and I think Porrim knows how to make a few good cocktails?”

“Actually,” Dave interjects, “I think I know a place. That, uh. That club? Calliope said I was welcome to come and bring some friends, if uh. If that sounds like fun?”

That’s how you end up in the Black Viper club with some creepy vampire breathing down your neck the minute you’re left alone at the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a casual reminder that there is an active [ prequel ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105249) to this fic. Which will probably have it's own prequel, and possibly several in-universe one-shots once this and that are both all done because I made the mistake of figuring out what every canon character was up to while trying to plot this. Whoops.


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